Casualty
by Black Tulip
Summary: Everyone's thrilled when a cold case gets solved... or are they? FINISHED!
1. Prologue

This is my first fanfic ever—so any sort of review will be greatly appreciated, even flames. And if anyone feels the rating's inappropriate, please say so. I will be using plenty of foul language.

Disclaimer: I don't own Cold Case, its characters, or anything related to them. They own me.

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* * *

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**Prologue**

_ Oh, God. I don't know what happened. I was so happy until that blonde bitch came poking around, removing old ashes. What's the point, anyway? Everything happened so long ago—years and years. Everyone had forgotten. No one ever knew it was me—and I sure as hell wasn't going to tell! It wasn't even my fault really. It was self-defense. Any self-respecting person would've done the same. Of course no one will say so, but I know they would--the fucking hypocrites…_

_ Now everything's gone to hell. I'm so scared, every minute of every day. Couldn't even sleep last night—jumped at every creak and groan. I was so sure they were gonna come for me. Any minute now that uppity bitch is gonna come across what she's looking for—the key piece of evidence—the one person who cracks. I've watched CSI. I know how it goes. _

_ And when that happens, I'm doomed._

_ The bitch has to be stopped. Someone has to stop her. She's just asking for trouble anyway, sticking her nose where it's not wanted. It's only a matter of time before something happens to her—an "accident". Bet her partner will even be grateful to me for putting her in her place, considering how she treated him that day…stupid bitch. _

_ She's a casualty waiting to happen. _

_ And I wanna hear her howl._


	2. Chapter 1

Sorry I took so long to update. Life has an annoying habit of getting in the way of my Muse! Thanks for all the wonderful reviews. Hope I can make the rest of the story live up to them.

Once again, I do not own Cold Case or anything related to them.

* * *

**Chapter 1**

"Heads up, Rush!" a voice sprang gaily out of the darkness. "We got a new case."

The normally serious and business-like Detective Lilly Rush peeled her face from the desk, pressing her fingers against her eyes and groaning. Her head was killing her. Drat her "girls" for choosing precisely last evening to go on a dating rampage! The result had been a night of endless caterwauling… which, added to the stress of her on-going feud with Scotty, couldn't possibly be good for her nerves. She felt as if she'd been run over by a truck.

Vera was perched on the edge of her desk, peering curiously at her. "You okay?"

"Perfect. Just perfect."

That was all she needed—someone breathing down her neck. Even if it _was _a friend. She wasn't up to giving explanations to anyone. Her mind flashed back to her bed at home, its covers invitingly open…

"Come on, then. Boss is waiting."

Lilly had the distinct feeling of being underwater as she made her way toward Stillman's office. Her body seemed bolted to the floor, her feet heavy as lead. Usually she would've jumped at the thought of a new case, but today she just wished she were a million miles away.

"What's up, boss?"

"Call came in a few minutes ago," Stillman announced, his countenance even graver than usual. "Some woman reporting a dead body in her backyard. Apparently she was doing some gardening, hauled some dirt over to plant a tree—and there it was."

"Grave must be pretty shallow for her to have found it like that," Scotty remarked, appearing out of nowhere. "How come they didn't come across it before?"

Lilly started. Where the hell had _he _come from? How could she not have noticed he was in the room?

In a minute her headache was back with a vengeance. She really didn't feel like dealing with him today.

"Hey," Scotty conceded, giving her a half-hearted nod.

Lilly's "hey" back was just as non-commital. Their eye-contact was so brief, it seemed impossible anyone in that room could have missed they were scarcely talking to each other. So why were they being so discreet? No glances exchanged, no ominous eyebrows lifted. Even Vera, who couldn't hold his tongue to save his life, hadn't made so much as a comment in edgewise. And Stillman still insisted on pairing them off together. What the hell was wrong with them all?

Boss was still talking. _Focus, Rush._

"Just moved in, apparently. Anyway, you can ask her yourselves. CSU's already on it, but we need someone interrogating the witnesses. Lil, you and Scotty go. Woman's name is Kylie Feldman."

Lilly's shoulders slumped in spite of herself. It had become predictable. A whole day of Scotty to look forward to—just what she needed.

* * *

Kylie Feldman was a redhead, and much shorter than Lilly had anticipated. Her nose was snubby and the sprinkling of freckles across her cheeks added to her childish appearance—although she was all of 39, according to her social security number.

"I had just asked the gardener to shovel over some of that soil in the corner when I saw it," she was explaining, still a bit shakily. Her brown eyes were wide and stricken as she showed them around her garden'. "I didn't know what it was—didn't want to touch it. My husband told me I should call the police."

It wasn't much of a garden, really. Just a walled-in, ten-by-ten foot square of loose dirt, basking in the cold Philadelphia sunshine—and absolutely swarming with CSU people at the moment. Lilly took a moment to wonder what sort of garden this kind of woman would have turned it into, had she had the chance. Would she have planted roses and some rhododendron bushes? Fruit trees maybe? Try to make a little orchard?

"How long ago did you move here?" Scotty's voice, all business, broke through her thoughts.

"Just a few weeks ago. We wanted a bigger place." Hesitantly, Kylie added, "I'm trying to get pregnant. We've always wanted a family. I know it's kind of late for me, but we wanted it so bad. I just had to try…"

Lilly's heart went out to her. She looked so genuinely frightened over what had happened, so hopeful and naïve. This was hardly the way a killer would act. But she knew from experience appearances could be deceiving—personal sympathies were no reason to kick professionalism out the window.

"Do you know the people who lived here before?" she asked.

"Just some couple called Bryant. I never met them. It was my husband who handled most of the deal."

Funny how Kylie seemed to be getting more and more nervous as they approached the makeshift grave—her eyeslooked wide and hauntedand she couldn't seem to stop wringing her hands. Her voice was beginning to falter. Was it shock at finding the body, Lilly mused, or an admission of guilt?

Just before they came to the corner getting most of the attention from the CSU, Kylie suddenly stopped in her tracks and gave up altogether, freezing them with a look of utter panic. "You mind going by yourselves the rest of the way?" she gasped, shaking like a leaf in the wind. "I just—really don't want to see it again."

Without waiting for an answer, she turned and practically ran back into the house. Lilly gazed after her, stunned. "What the—?"

"Lil." Scotty's voice rang out unexpectedly ominous from where he stood, leaning over the hole in the ground. "Maybe you better come take a look at this."


	3. Chapter 2

Once again, thanks for all the lovely encouraging reviews!

Sorry I took so long to update. This next chapter is the result of long and loving research, so please overlook if some parts are off. I'm pretending Frannie Ching is the coroner because it suits my needs, but I'm not sure if she really is. If anyone knows—please don't hesitate to tell me.

Disclaimer: I don't own Cold Case or anything worth being sued for!

* * *

**Chapter 2**

Two hours later, back at police headquarters, Scotty and Lilly were still staring at the specimen recovered from the Feldmans' backyard.

Jeffreys, Vera, and Stillman had wandered over to join them. Lilly still wasn't able to rid herself of the slow heartache that had begun on first laying her eyes upon it. If anything, it had gotten worse. But at least her headache was gone, and no one could dispute she was wide awake now.

"So… what is it?" she finally ventured.

Frannie Ching turned around, grim and professional in green scrubs. "A dicephalus."

"A _what_?"

"Conjoined twins. One body, two heads. The result of an untimely separation between embryos," Frannie explained, moving over to allow their full observation of the infant.

"You mean these are _two _babies?" Scotty's voice was tinted with disbelief.

"Without a doubt. There wasn't much to go on, but I've recovered bits of bones from two craniums—not one. And if you take a look here, you'll see there are really two rows of cervical vertebrae—"

"No, no." Scotty stepped away sharply. "That's okay."

God… it was true.

Lilly felt a little sick. It had been bad enough when she had looked down into that horrible pit and seen what she thought was _one _baby—its head crushed to the point of making it nearly unrecognizable. But _two..._

What kind of monster would do such a thing?

"It—I mean they—look kind of small," Vera offered. "Think they're newborns?"

"Conjoined twins rarely carry to term," said Frannie matter-of-factly. "My guess is—this was a premature delivery. Probably stillborn. The fractures on the skull are consistent with the use of forceps…"

"Not sure I wanna know what that is," Vera uttered under his breath, looking a little green around the gills.

"…Or some sort of clamp," Frannie went on. "There's no way to know for sure, but I don't think these babies were ever alive out of the uterus. They probably died while still inside and someone tried to force them out the normal way, smashing them in the process. What I don't get is, why didn't their mother go to a hospital?"

"So this wouldn't be murder then?" came Stillman's question, harsh and predictable.

Frannie shrugged. "Hard to tell. But it _is _something to be looked into. I would check hospital records if I were you, during the past five years or so. It's not exactly easy to keep this kind of thing a secret."

* * *

"So what have you got?" Stillman asked, meandering into the main room some five hours later.

"Not much. The Children's Hospital here in Philly has been separating conjoined twins for years, but there's no record of any born in the area lately," Scotty answered, glancing up from the thick pile of papers in his hands. "In fact, last case was brought over from Poland. 1999."

"Think it could be our kids?"

"No way. These two were separated successfully and flown back, at least as far as I can tell. Anyway they were joined different—at the chest and abdomen. And they were already three months old by the time they arrived. Frannie said our babies didn't even look like term babies."

"Well—keep looking."

Scotty sighed. It had been such a goddamn long day. He usually loved new cases, but this one case was really taking its toll. There was something about it, about situations dealing with kids in general, that was absolutely exhausting. To make matters worse, they didn't seem to be getting anywhere. No ID, no record of any conjoined twin pregnancies, not even a reliable time of death. Could be any time within six months and five years. Great.

And then there was Lilly, former friend, hunched over her own desk—hostile, icy, barely cooperative. Not to mention that she really looked like shit today. Although they were barely talking to each other, he couldn't help wondering what had happened. It wasn't like her to be so slow, pale and baggy-eyed. But he'd probably get the sledgehammer if he so much as dared to ask.

_Okay, so sleeping with Chris probably wasn't the best idea in the world. But what was I supposed to do? Not _my _fault they don't get along. And Chris is one special lady…_

In fact, she was the only good thing going on in his life right now. And he wasn't about to give her up just because Big Sis over there insisted on giving him the cold shoulder. Talk about overreacting, for crying out loud.

"Oh, and Lil—Robert Feldman's just coming in. You know… Kylie's husband? Why don't you go talk to him?"

The Great Voice of Reason had once again picked Lilly over him to go interrogate a possible suspect. Honestly, it was almost like they didn't trust him anymore. And why? Sure, he'd made a few mistakes. Okay—so they were considerable mistakes. But he had cleaned himself up, got himself together. How long would it be before he was back in Stillman's good graces?

Lilly rose from her desk in what could only be described a sluggish manner, accidentally meeting his eyes on her way out. "What?" she growled testily.

"Nothin'," he muttered, sinking back into his wad of records.

_Go to hell, Lil._

* * *

Lilly trudged her way into the interrogation room, trying with all her might to ward off the sinking realization that she was being a bitch. She knew she was. There was just no other way of dealing with the problem. Chris was trouble—Scotty had been warned. He hadn't listened. Not only that, but he'd lied to her face about it. He—the one person she had actually come to trust these past few months. Her partner, for Pete's sake! Worse even, he'd gone to Chris, snooping for secrets—and Chris, like a good, blabbermouthed little busybody, had told him.

That was something she couldn't get over. Something she'd never be able to forgive. It wasn't even a question of forgiving, really. She just couldn't cope with him knowing. That secret was meant to be hers, and hers alone. Chris had no business telling him. How'd she ever be able to look him in the eye again?

A man's wide-eyed, startled face swam in front of her, and she was suddenly aware of her surroundings. _You better perk up, Rush—or you're not gonna make it through this day, _her inner voice nagged. _Leave the personal stuff home. Starting now._

"Hello, Mr. Feldman," she began, snapping into professional attitude in the blink of an eye. She sincerely hoped the potential suspect hadn't caught on to her momentary lapse. "Well, it's been five hours since we got in touch with you. Seven hours since we talked to your wife. Where were you all this time?"

"Me? I was at work!" came the indignant answer, not wholly unexpected.

Robert Feldman was a good-looking man, some 6 foot 2, from what Lilly could gather with him sitting down. His hair was light brown and short, and he had a fine tan. He looked adequately concerned—though whether over his innocence or his wife's state of mind, she had yet to find out.

_Cool it, Rush. Remember he's not a suspect yet. You just wanna find out if he knows something about the kids. Don't put him on the stand. Yet._

"And you couldn't make it out before? In my world, finding a dead body in my backyard is a pretty big deal. If _my _wife came across one, I'd trip over myself trying to get home to her."

"Look, lady." Robert's voice was tense, but not out of control. "I don't know what you're getting at. I had nothing to do with it. And I couldn't leave work. I'm not exactly my own boss, you know. Of course I was worried about Kylie—we've been trying to get pregnant for so long, I could only imagine what it was like."

"How do you know they were babies? Kylie claims she never opened the burlap sack."

"I never said they were babies. Kylie just said it was a small package. I guess it could've been a dog or something. But she sounded so freaked out over the phone—I figured it must be more than that. We've buried lots of pets. She doesn't usually lose it. And today—well, she was almost hysterical."

_True enough, _thought Lilly, remembering the redhead's mad rush into the house.

"Mr. Feldman, when did you move into your house?"

"Just a little less than a month ago. Kylie wanted a bigger house. She said she was stifling in the apartment."

"Your wife said it used to belong to some couple named Bryant, whom she never met. What'd they seem like to you?"

"Yeah—Beau and Jenny Bryant." Robert's voice lost its strained tone and his eyes took on a faraway look for an instant, as if lost in thought. "Well, I only negotiated with them about the house. It's not like we were best friends or anything. But they seemed quiet—nice enough."

"Any kids?"

"None that I could see. But they had pictures on the mantelpiece. And Beau Bryant mentioned something about a son going to college. They looked like an older couple. Maybe he was the last kid to leave the house, and they felt it was too big for them. I don't know."

"They didn't say anything about why they were selling?"

"No, and I didn't ask. Didn't think it was any of my business."

Lilly withdrew, disappointed. To their misfortune, Robert Feldman seemed innocent enough. She didn't believe he had anything to do with those buried babies. Besides, if Frannie's approximate time of death held true, the infants had been there long before the Feldmans ever so much as dreamed of moving in.

"All right. We're done, Mr. Feldman. Go home to your wife." On her way out, Lilly suddenly turned around and said, almost as an afterthought, "You might want to stay in town, though."

"Why?" Robert returned defensively. "Am I a suspect?"

"Let's just say you may be wanted for further questioning."

Everyone's eyes turned toward her as she marched back into the main room—Scotty still sitting at his desk, Stillman leaning on his doorframe, Jeffreys and Vera by the coffee machine.

"Nothing, boss," Lilly barged in dejectedly, deciding to go ahead and lay the bad news on them before anyone asked. "So I guess we're back to square one. At least we can check out the last couple who owned the house. Beau and Jenny Bryant."

There was a short silence in which everyone exchanged looks.

"What?"

"We may have found our hospital record. It's not very clear, but it's all we've got. November 2002. Erica Bailey, age 36. Multipara of 2. 13 weeks. Multiple pregnancy, possible conjoined," Scotty read from one of the rearmost pages of his stack.

"13 weeks? That's like barely 3 months, isn't it? What happened afterwards?"

"She disappeared. There's no record of her anywhere," Jeffreys spoke up. "Address she gave at the hospital was fake. No current address, no phone records, nothing. She went missing from the hospital. Obviously, no record of her babies' birth."

"Great. So what do we do?" Lilly wasn't sure she could take any more dead ends.

"I guess we go talk to her doctor."

* * *

There seem to have been other, more recentsiamese twin separations after the 1999 case I mentioned, but I couldn't find any newspaper articles on them, so I chose to ignore it. Thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

"Sure I remember Erica Bailey," purred Dr. Swanson from where he stood, casually leaning over a high-backed chair.

He was a tall, slate-haired, dashing individual, some forty years of age, with a crinkly smile and a deep bass that soothed Lilly's somewhat rattled nerves in spite of herself. If she closed her eyes, she could almost pretend she liked the guy… although as soon as she opened them, this flimsy illusion was dispelled.

He seemed approachable and pleasant enough, but she _couldn't_ like him. Maybe it was the way he glanced at her, coyly, out of the corner of his eye, as if certain she had already fallen prey to his charms. Or the despective way he had treated his receptionist on their arrival, practically ordering her to empty a room for them. And all of this in his very debonair, well-groomed voice—an asset he evidently knew how to use.

"What can you tell us about her?"

It came out sharper than she intended, and she couldn't even blame this mood on lack of sleep. Stillman had been kind enough to call it a day after dismissing Robert Feldman the evening before, and her girls hadn't been one bit of a nuisance. It was just this whole case getting on her nerves—not to mention being teamed up with Scotty again. She wanted some answers, and she wanted them now.

The good doctor shrugged his well-built shoulders beneath the white coat, dazzling them with a cultivated smile. "Nothing much. She was just a patient, one of many."

_One of many? _Lilly had the sudden urge to claw at his face. _One of many?_ Although she knew full well she was supposed to be in control, she couldn't help flaring up whenever people so blatantly treated others as if they were nothing. Taking a deep breath, she began counting to ten in her mind and Scotty jumped in in the meantime.

"But this condition of hers—conjoined twins—is kind of rare, isn't it?"

"Very rare."

"So wouldn't you have liked to keep tabs on her, for research purposes?"

"Certainly, but it wasn't really up to me." Scotty was pushing his buttons and doing a good job of it, Lilly was grudgingly bound to admit. The doctor's voice, smooth as silk, was beginning to have a slightly perceptible edge to it. "Look, I don't want to sound callous, but I see dozens of pregnant women each day. Erica's condition was rare, but her ultrasound was none too clear and we couldn't be sure of the diagnosis."

"Come on, doc, tell us the truth. Did you even _try _to contact her?"

It was a little unnerving how Dr. Swanson never lost his suavity. "Of course I did. When she didn't show up for her appointment the following week, I asked Gemma, my receptionist, to get a hold of her. That's when we found out the address and phone number she had given were fake. It was all written into her file at the time. You're welcome to see it."

"Oh, we already have," Lilly frostily informed him, flipping the file open before his eyes. "We were hoping you could enlighten us—since you seem to remember her so well. For example, do you have a copy of this ultrasound of hers?"

"No, we don't keep the images. Just the report. Sometimes we print out pictures and give them to the family. Not when there are malformations, though. It just doesn't seem very delicate, don't you think, detective?" His slight mockery irritated her, though it shouldn't have.

"So that's what you think they were? Just malformations?"

"Look, I don't expect the two of you to understand, but ultrasounds aren't all that clear, especially at 13 weeks. What we saw was a gestational sac with one normal fetus in it, and an image suggestive of a second head. We couldn't find the rest of this second twin at the time. Could've been a conjoined twin—but it could also have been a badly deformed twin or just a normal twin hiding under its sibling. It happens sometimes. The only way to know for sure is through follow-up. But she never came back."

"Any idea of where she could've gone? Did she come alone that first time? Mention any family?"

Dr. Swanson knit his striking dark brows in thought. "No… wait. I do seem to recall someone with her—a sister, I think. Blonde girl, looked about college-age. And I have no idea where she could've gone. She wasn't one of my regular patients. As I said before—she came out of nowhere. And that's right back where she went."

"Here's the thing, doctor," Lilly spoke up, strolling over to his side in pretend friendly fashion. "We've just uncovered the dead body of two babies matching the description you gave us. Our coroner says the fractures on their skulls are consistent with the use of forceps, which, as I understand, is a tool only obstetricians can use."

"So, you see," broke in Scotty. "This puts you in kind of an awkward situation. Makes you look a little suspicious--don't you think? I mean, you use forceps, you knew about this pregnancy…"

"Think you could make a little money delivering these babies yourself? Away from the hospital environment?"

"Or maybe something went wrong and you had to hide the bodies in a hurry. Didn't want the medical community to find out you had made a boo-boo. Because you would've been a hero if you'd been able to deliver these babies, wouldn't you?" prodded Lilly, shamelessly enjoying this attempt at bringing his arrogant ass down a peg or two.

For the first time Dr. Swanson had the grace of looking a little disturbed. "You two have no idea what you're talking about," he spat disgustedly. "I never saw the woman after she showed up in my office that one time. She could have terminated the pregnancy for all I know—lots of women do, faced with the possibility of having a disabled child. And it would be incredibly dangerous to try to deliver a conjoined twin pregnancy vaginally—especially at home. I would _never_ put my reputation at risk by attempting something crazy like that. Now, if you don't mind, I've got a lot of patients to see, so…" His message was loud and clear.

"Don't let the door hit you on your way out," Scotty muttered, holding the door open for Lilly, whose hands were full with Erica Bailey's file.

Lilly, half-glad to get herself out of that office and half-sorry they hadn't got what they came for, had the bad idea of turning to deliver one final smirk. Big mistake. Her foot caught on the edge of Scotty's shoe and before she knew it, Erica Bailey's file with all its millions of papers was strewn across the floor. Cheeks crimson with humiliation, Lilly looked back and caught a glimpse of that cocky son of a bitch doctor snickering at her. Anger flashed through her and she vented the only way she could—at Scotty.

"Dammit, Valens! Can't you at least stay out of my way?" she hissed, bending over the pick up the papers.

Scotty glared at her, stung. "Well, _excuse_ me for trying to be a gentleman," he grumbled under his breath, charging ahead out the door into the parking lot.

Lilly let him go, a little conscience-stricken. She shouldn't have taken it out on him—he _had _been trying to be nice, after all. And it really wasn't his fault she'd tripped. But _why _did Stillman insist on pairing them up, when it was obvious they didn't get along? He was a good investigator but his very presence unsettled her… to the point of… of making her physically clumsy.

Gemma, the olive-skinned, petite receptionist with the round horn-rimmed glasses, was already crouched on the carpet, gathering Erica's papers together with proficient speed. Her sympathetic look seemed to not only recognize but understand Lilly's exasperation at having to work with someone against her will. Lilly couldn't help being grateful for it, complete stranger though she was.

An old polaroid of Erica, the only one they'd found, fluttered out of the folder and Gemma picked it up, her eyes flickering with surprise.

"Something wrong?" Lilly asked.

"I remember Erica Bailey from 3 years ago," said Gemma slowly. "This… isn't her."

* * *

Vera and Jeffries sat in the Bryants' new living room, a nice, cozy little shelter—all bright, warm colors and fuzzy textures. Jenny Bryant was a picture-perfect housewife, all the way down to the pink-checkered apron she wore. Her cheeks were round and rosy, her graying hair perfectly set—even the tea she offered was top-quality. Her husband, middle-aged, balding, and portly, seemed rightfully happy at her side. Jeffries felt an unexpected tinge of loneliness looking at them. He and his wife would've been happy like that… in another lifetime maybe…

He hated being responsible for the broken disbelief in their placid, contented faces when told of the macabre finding in their former backyard.

"Are you sure?" Beau Bryant asked, sputtering a little. "We haven't lived there in nearly a month."

"We realize that," replied Jeffries gently. "However, we've been informed the body had been lying there between six months and five years. So it would have been while you were still living there—in all certainty."

Beau and Jenny exchanged horrified looks. It was Jenny who finally spoke. "You can't possibly think _we _had anything to do with this?"

"I'm sorry, but as you were living in the house at the time, I'm afraid you must be considered suspect," Vera countered.

"Well… what do you think it was? Murder?" gulped Beau.

"That, or a home delivery gone wrong," was Vera's comforting comment.

Once again Beau and Jenny gazed at one another, helplessly. "Well—that can't be our case. Our youngest child is 18. He's just gone off to college in Cleveland. And I haven't been pregnant since his birth—my gynecologist can vouch for me."

"How many children do you have, Mrs. Bryant?" Jeffries asked, changing the subject. They were getting too worked up for their own good—and not in a useful way. Skimming over the mantelpiece, he noticed there were at least three different children, all tow-headed and smiling, staring out at him at different stages of their lives. Two boys and a girl, from the looks of them.

"Three. George is 26, he's living in New York. And Sarah, our only daughter—she's 24—just moved back to Philadelphia a few weeks ago. But she's never been pregnant," insisted Jenny defensively. "I would've known. We've grown apart but she still confides in me. Though she hasn't visited since Christmas 2002. She meant to come for spring break that year but couldn't, because we took a long trip with the rest of the family—to Aruba. Afterwards, between school and work… I guess she never could make the time to visit again."

Jeffries could understand her pain. It was the same pain he felt when he thought of his own grown children spread across the country—and of his growing grandchildren, whom he hardly ever got to see. Life was just too busy, too much to trouble to visit your folks sometimes. Funny how it never used to be too much trouble when his wife was still alive.

"Anyone stay in your house while you were in Aruba?" Vera asked, evidently oblivious to Jeffries' mood. Not that Jeffries minded. Like most people, he didn't care to share his misery.

Beau shook his head. "We never liked the idea of having strange people staying over. That's why we never took long trips. That was the only time. Even our dog went with us. We kept the house locked up ."

"Notice anything funny about your backyard when you returned?"

"Yeah—the lawn had died. But I guess that was to be expected. Since we didn't want to let anyone into the house, no one was there to water it. So, yeah—it was a little sketchy when we returned. But nothing else."

Now it was Jeffries and Vera's turn to exchange glances. This interrogation was going nowhere. Might as well head back to headquarters, see what Lilly and Scotty had found. And if they had been able to keep off each other's throats.

* * *

Stillman had never been a man of many words. And this case was no exception.

"So?" was the only question he had in store for Vera and Jeffries, as soon as they arrived.

"Nothing much. The Bryants seem like a perfectly normal family. Denied any knowledge of the situation."

"Yeah, but of course, they would. They took this trip, in March 2003—went to Aruba for three weeks," Vera added. "Think that could be when it happened?"

Stillman shrugged. "Who knows. Think we may have to start asking for blood samples, try to match the babies' DNA to the Feldmans and the Bryants. There isn't much else we can do to get to the bottom of this."

Even he sounded discouraged. A rare thing for Stillman.

"So what happened with the Erica Bailey angle?"

"There _is _no Erica Bailey," Scotty griped. "I mean, there is—but she's not the one who had that ultrasound. The name matches, but we showed the doctor's receptionist that picture we have of Erica Bailey, and the receptionist said it was nothing like her. _Our _Erica Bailey had long, curly dark hair, brown eyes, and looked much younger than 36. Gemma Whitney, the receptionist, is in there with the sketch artist trying to make a likeness of her right now."

"Okay, here's news," announced Lilly breathlessly, choosing that exact same moment to barge into the room, blonde strands flying. "I ran her through the FBI database. It seems Erica Bailey, 29, mother of two, was reported missing by her husband in July 1995. There's been no word of her since."

A gloomy silence filled the room.

"Great," Vera ruminated, the only one capable of voicing out what was on all other minds. "So I guess now we have two mysteries. What happened to these babies—and where the hell is Erica Bailey."


	5. Chapter 4

As usual, sorry for the long wait. The season finale came to rock my fanfic world, resolving issues I had hoped to tackle myself and messing up others… It may be a little hard to follow, but I've decided to just stick to my own storyline, so it will be slightly AU. This chapter's short, but a longer one will be up between tomorrow and Sunday.

**Spoilers:** Everything up to The Woods. The fic takes place during the worst of L/S tension, as you may have guessed. The Woods hasn't happened yet, but there might be references to Lilly's 49 as mentioned in that episode, later on.

**Special thanks** to my reviewers: marcus-reloaded, peachfan14, peachy 15, Evita aka Oracle, Ellie, And yes I do drink tea, BraveheartChild, Tati aka Trinity, Snow Ivy, and all others. You're great!

**Warning**: Brief Chris/Scotty fluff ahead. L/S shippers—run away screaming!

* * *

**Chapter 4**

Scotty opened his eyes to find the early morning sun, deceitfully brilliant, already peeking through the blinds. Stretching, he turned to gaze at the tousled curly head at his side, smiling with a fondness he hadn't expected to feel again—not after Elisa.

Elisa.

The wound she had inflicted was still raw. Though on the most part he realized she was ill and not entirely responsible for her actions, the vulnerable, besotted fourteen-year-old in him would never be able forgive her for what she'd done.

Giving up. Leaving him.

Not that they were really together, those last few months. But their friendship, their love, had gone on for so many years… They were supposed to be part of each other's lives forever.

He still couldn't believe she was gone. Her death had left a big, gaping hole… one he wasn't sure would ever be filled. Sometimes it was easier believing in foul play, that someone else had done it. Anyone else. For whatever reason, no matter how implausible. But not Elisa. Not by her own hand.

Christina stirred and muttered something in her sleep, shaking him out of the miserable trance he had fallen into. Scotty's heart warmed over with gratefulness as he bent over her, covering her slight form with his arm.

Heck, he wasn't kidding himself. He knew she wasn't his long lost love—not by a long shot. But this was definitely _not _the horny, half-assed, desperate rebound everyone seemed to think.

There were feelings. True, deep-rooted affection. She was the only thing keeping him in place, the only one capable of making him feel alive. When he was with her, Elisa's ghost crawled out of the dark recesses of his mind, leaving him free of the guilt and sorrow he'd grown used to during the weeks following her death.

Everyone forever asking him how he was doing—it only brought everything back. He needed to go forward, not backwards. Why couldn't they understand that? The more he mulled over it, the more it sucked him in—the more he felt he'd never be able to let go. Chris was the only one who nevergave him the third degree. She didn't let his past get in the way. He was who he was and that was enough for her. No messy mourning—no recriminations. Not even blame for getting her kicked out of her sister's house. She was a goddamn blessing.

And that brought him to the other issue. The prickly one.

Her sister. The great, invincible, unapproachable Lilly Rush.

How they could really be sisters, or indeed related in any way, was a complete mystery to him. Their similarities, at least as far as he could see, extended only to their last names. Everything else, both physical and otherwise, was about as different as they come. Christina was sweet and huggable and caring, all solace and no demands, female to the core. Lilly was lean and adamant, tough and dedicated—a warrior. When he'd first met her, he had admired those qualities. They brought out the investigator in her, the crusader—the one who fought for those who'd been forgotten, the one who solved cases no one else could.

But this new aspect of her—this unreasonable rage born of one incident, completely threw him off.

What the hell was wrong with her? He didn't get her at all. If she wanted to be mad at her sister—well, fine, he could understand that. What Chris had confessed to that time was pretty bad. But it had been nine years. And this situation was worlds apart. Sure he had gone behind her back, "lied to her face", as she herself had said. Big deal! Why shouldn't he? He wasn't a child and neither was Christina. Why should she give a damn? Why wasn't she letting this go? It wasn't like she had any romantic feelings for him…

Had she?

This new thought, startling and unsettling, had the effect of a bucket of icy water poured down his back.

_No way! _his very core rebelled, frantically trying to steer him away from that road. _This is Lilly we're talking about, a serious cop, my partner, not some…_

Some what? What was the end of that sentence? Why _shouldn't _she be allowed to have some feelings? It sure would explain a lot.

He got himself off the bed, careful not to disturb Chris, feeling as if he'd swallowed a bag of stones. This scenario of Lilly having feelings for him had never crossed his mind before, and it was far from a pleasant one. Because there was no beating around the bush—he had no feelings for her. No romantic feelings anyway. And that meant they were pretty much irreconcilable, didn't it?

_This has to stop, _he realized jadedly. _I'm sick of it. The others are sick of it. I can't work with her fighting me every step of the way. It ain't professional. We have to talk it over, get past this somehow. Whatever the problem is—I'm not giving up Christina. And she has to see that. Period._

It was a grim vow. He knew the likelihood of breaking through Lilly's frosty shell was slim. But for the sake of their old partnership, he had to try. If it didn't happen—well, that was it. But no one could say he hadn't given it his best shot.


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Vera chugged down the last of his rather stale morning coffee, wadded up the plastic cup and tossed it into the wastebasket with distaste. One hour into a perfectly good new day and already they were up to their necks—Scotty and Lilly having just departed to pay the real Erica Bailey's husband a little social call, and Stillman on the phone, negotiating bodily fluids and DNA fingerprinting with the two delightful suspect families. He and Jeffries, on the other hand, had been granted the exhilarating mission of going through the Feldmans' neighborhood with a fine-tooth comb… and alas they should return without something useful.

It had the makings of one hell of a great day, all right—a real picnic on the beach. Just the expression on Lilly's face on being told she'd been partnered up with Valens again was enough to make him want to throw a party. Vera knew he didn't have a reputation for being the most sensitive guy in the world, but he did have a way of picking up vibes. And Lily's were definitely not good ones. He'd had a feeling in his gut—from the _minute _he caught Scotty slobbering over the barmaid—there would be trouble. He might not have a Master's Degree in psychology or the last scoop on Lil's biography, but even he saw she was territorial… and that her darling sister was hardly of good stock. Little miss Train Wreck breaking into her turf, sleeping with her clueless partner, couldn't possibly have a good effect on her. He'd done his best to warn Scotty, for his own sake—but the runt had chosen not to listen. Sex, ever the basic human need, had got in the way. And now, having excited the Great Wrath of Lilly, he was paying for it.

Problem was, he wasn't the only one. Hell, if only Valens were getting chewed up for screwing the wrong chick, it wouldn't be so bad. But it had upset the dynamics of the whole group.

Not to mention what it had done to Lilly. Call him a sissy, but he really hated seeing her shook up like that. Made him want to pound someone. The details were lost on him, but he knew she hadn't had the easiest time growing up—and you had to be an idiot not to notice all these boundaries she had created around herself to give her some sense of control. Boundaries Valens had hopped over like they were nothing. And just to get into the barmaid's pants.

And what the hell was Stillman was up to—forcing them together like this? He couldn't for the life of him figure it. Was it supposed to be some sort of shock therapy, keeping them together till they somehow fell into each other or blew up? Sure, they were acting like kids, but couldn't he give the rest of them a break and just split them up for a while? Ease up the atmosphere a little?

Not the liveliest of morning moods. And now to top it off, here was Jeffries staring off into space, a woe-begone look on his face.

"What's up?" he chirped, trying to be cheerful. Someone had to be cheerful around here for God's sake.

"Got to thinking about what Scotty said. About Jane Doe coming in with a sister—blonde girl, about college age. Remember?"

"Yeah, sure I remember. So?"

"So the Bryants have a blonde daughter, who would've been about college age three years ago. Her last visit was December 2002. And she didn't go on that Aruba trip with her parents."

Hope glimmered in Vera's brain. _A lead_. Not much—more like downright skimpy—but still better than nothing. And it sure beat having to drag the Feldmans' neighborhood for inexistent clues. Grabbing his coat and car keys, he was halfway out the door before remembering to call back over his shoulder, "Well, watcha waiting for? Let's go!"

* * *

_Well, it's about damn time, _Lilly thought belligerently, as the door finally swung open.

She and Valens had been standing around this guy's freezing front porch for what seemed ages, waiting for him to answer his doorbell. They'd almost begun to think he wasn't home—or would have, if it hadn't been for the TV blaring in the background.

First thing that struck her about him were his eyes—deep, shadowy and sorrowful, as if he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. The rest wasn't really worth describing: medium height, medium build, with scrappy-looking hair and a beard. Might have been the intellectual type if he hadn't looked quite so worn out and defeated. Hard to believe he must be about the same age as Robert Feldman and that insufferable but well-preserved Swanson jerk. He seemed a hundred.

The second thing that struck her was his being so patently home—in the middle of a workday.

Before she could get a word in edgewise, Scotty, evidently of the same mind, had already gone into his speech. "Aaron Bailey? Philadelphia police. Man… don't you work?"

The 'none of your goddamn business' glare he received was hardly undeserved, as the supposed suspect crossed his arms across his chest wearily. "So what'd he do now?"

"He?" Scotty looked every bit as blank as she felt.

Aaron Bailey's rolling eyes said it all: _either you two got the wrong house or you're hopeless morons. _"My _son_," he explained, with resigned patience. "Jason Bailey—local thug?"

"We're not here to talk about your son, Mr. Bailey," put in Lilly, smoothly. "There _is_ a question or two we'd like to ask about your wife, Erica Bailey, though."

"_Ex-_wife."

This comment, leaden with resentment, rang odd to Lilly's ears, and she glanced back to see if Scotty had caught it. She was surprised to see him quickly divert his eyes, as if he'd been staring at her.

"Mind if we come inside?" he prodded, waving the warrant in Bailey's face.

"Sure, come in, sit down, make yourselves at home," grumbled Aaron Bailey, his heavy sarcasm not lost on anyone. "Yes, Erica was my wife. Poor excuse of one, too. I've been ten years trying to forget her. Me and my kids have remade our lives. Why are you bringing her up again?"

Interesting mood. Sounded like he was blaming her.

For a minute Lilly tried to picture him as he must have been 10 years ago—more athletic, minus the stoop and with a heavier head of hair. Happier. Less resentful, maybe? Resentful of what?

"Ten years ago you filed a missing person's report on her and you've never heard from her since—don't you want to know what happened?"

"I _know _what happened. She left me for another man. Big deal."

"You got any proof of this, pal?"

His great, sad eyes carried more anger than she had first realized—if looks could kill she and Scotty would've dropped dead right then and there. "It so happens I do… _pal_. Got a letter from her, two months after she disappeared. So I called off the investigation."

"A letter?"

"Yeah. Not for me, really. For the kids. How she loved them and didn't want to leave them, but she had no choice—all that shit. Poor kids. Never saw it coming. They were devastated when their mommy left, took me the whole two months to get them out of the house and back to their normal routine. And then that letter came—set everything right back to the beginning. And the sad bitch never wrote again."

"Had she promised to keep on writing?"

Lilly knew what Scotty was getting at. Something was off. She was unfortunately all too acquainted with most aspects of incompetent motherhood—but even she found it strange one of these lost souls would bother writing her kids, two months after deserting them, promising the world and pleading forgiveness, never to write again.

"You got this letter?" she asked.

"Yeah. Should've burned it, but I never did. Guess I did love that fucking whore after all. People are sure right when they say love and hate ain't too much apart."

Disappearing into his room, he somehow managed to produce an old piece of stationery, handing it over with obvious reluctance.

As she read it, Lilly had to shake her head in agreement—the letter was heartbreaking. The woman had to be a real cold-hearted bitch to write something like that and disappear forever—if she'd done it on her own accord. The first half was all about asking her kids to forgive her, defending her reasons for leaving with another man, promising she'd always be their mommy no matter what. The second half just said she was far away, so they probably wouldn't be able to see each other. But she'd always be with them in their hearts.

She had to read the letter three times through before picking up on what was bothering her. It was subtle—but it was there. "Mr. Bailey, this look like Erica's writing to you?"

"Yeah, she always liked those flowery, round letters," he groused. "Why?"

"The a's are different," Lilly pointed out. Not for the first time, she blessed those endless years working as handwriting expert, boring though it was. "In this whole last paragraph. So are the e's…"

"So?"

"So this letter was written by two different people. One, we must assume was Erica Bailey. Who was the other?"

* * *

"Erica Bailey's husband called off the investigation of his wife's disappearance in 1995, after receiving a letter in which she admitted running off with another man," Lilly filled Stillman in, a few hours later in his office.

"Only the letter wasn't genuine," added Scotty. "Part of it, at least. We compared it to some documents written by Erica that her husband had kept. The top two paragraphs where she talks to her children are hers. But the last one—written by a male."

"CSU's handwriting analyzer backs me up on this, boss."

"A male?" echoed Stillman. "This man she ran off with?"

"It seems the most likely choice. But—I don't know, boss. We've got this missing person whose husband says she was always the model wife, staying home, never another man around, dedicated to the kids. Never suspected she could be cheating on him. And then one day she takes off—and two months later this letter turns up, half-written by someone else. Makes me think her leaving wasn't exactly voluntary. "

"How about the kids?"

"The girl was two, she wouldn't remember. And the older one's a real reliable type—runaway, multiple drug addictions, busted at 14 for holding up a local pharmacy. Juvie file like a Bible. Pops don't even know where he's staying at these days."

"Sounds like a real messed-up kid," Stillman pronounced. "Maybe he saw something. Dig him up."

"Think she's dead, boss?" Lilly couldn't help asking, uneasily.

"She disappeared 10 years ago with no explanation, someone sent a forged letter to keep her husband off the scent. There are third persons involved, and foul play's as good a reason as any. Keep the letter in CSU for prints, compare the handwriting to every male in the surrounding area—including her husband and son."

* * *

Lilly's attention, fully occupied with this new turn of events, failed to pick up the footsteps behind her as she sped down the hall. She was eager to start tracing Jason Bailey's whereabouts before the day was done and she really wanted to know if anything new had come up regarding the twins. Scotty was the furthest thing from her mind, and the hand that came down on her shoulder caught her really unawares.

"Scotty!" she exclaimed. "What…?"

There he was giving her that strange intense regard again. What was _with _him today? This was like the fifth time she'd caught him stealing glances at her.

"I wanted to talk to you about something," Scotty began, sounding both determined and uncertain--if such a thing was possible.

_Oh, sure, now you want advice. Fine, be my guest. Talk._ "Well, what is it?"

"Lil, we can't go on like this. Everyone's noticed we're hardly talking to each other. That's no way for a couple of Homicide cops to act—we're partners. We gotta be professional."

_Professional? Like banging your partner's sister is real professional._

"Listen, Scotty. We work together, we don't have to be friends. And right now I don't feel like being friends, okay? So just drop it."

She began to walk on.

"Lil, Lil, come on—listen to me. This ain't worth fighting over. I'm sorry if being involved with Christina hurt you—I never thought you'd take it so hard."

Something about the way he pronounced those words struck a chord. She spun around, facing him head on for the first time, trying to read between the lines, figure out what he was really saying. "I don't care what you do with Christina," she declared at long last. "It's your loss, not mine."

"Come on, you don't have to get like that." His voice was strange, gentle… sympathetic, almost. "It's a relationship like any other—I got feelings for her, I really do. I'm not just messing around, and neither is she." Taking a deep breath, "I'm sorry if I ever gave you the wrong idea about us, Lil."

"What?"

"I'm sorry if I ever led you on."

"_You? _Lead _me _on?" Lilly repeated incredulously.

The idea was so mind-boggling it actually took a few seconds to register. A furious blush spread across her cheeks when it did. So _that _was it. No wonder he'd been gawking at her all day. He thought she was smitten with him—and jealous of Christina!

A harsh, bitter laugh erupted from her lips—one so harsh it grated her ears.

"Get over yourself, Valens. And spare me your little talks, will you? It won't do you any good. I couldn't care less about you and your little girlfriend. Just consider yourself warned."

Leaving Scotty open-mouthed, she whirled around to run smack into Robert Feldman.

"Umm, hi," he said awkwardly, anxiety plain on his face as his eyes searched theirs for recognition. "Just came to give blood and thought I'd see how the investigation's coming along. Kylie's not doing too well. She wants to give up the house—move away. Thought it might help if you had some news."

As Scotty watched Lilly through the glass partition, talking to Robert Feldman, his head still pounded with fury and mortification. How that pasty-faced partner of his could manage to come across so human to them—victims, witnesses—and be so goddamn ruthless to everyone else was really beyond him. Christina had got one hell of a rotten deal. And so had he.

A great venomous rage simmered inside him. Rage at being laughed at for trying to make things right. Rage at himself for being idiotic enough to believe that spiteful bitch of a partner could actually have any feelings. Rage at ever having considered her a friend, given her the benefit of the doubt.

The more he thought about it, the more his anger grew, building up till he couldn't take it anymore. Grabbing a stapler by his side, he smashed it against the floor with all his might, taking a grim satisfaction in watching it disintegrate, springs and screws flying around and scattering to the furthest corners of the room.

He'd never in his life wanted to hit a woman before. But now—God forgive him—his hands itched to do the unflinching Lilly Rush some physical harm. Bring her down off that high-horse. Who the fuck was she to humiliate him?


	7. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

_Been pacing and pacing—in my head, cause people are looking and no one can know. No one would understand anyway. My kind of suffering is not the kind you spread around. Been racking my mind for a solution, and only one's come up. A dangerous one._

_Nothing else I can do. It's getting worse and worse. Everyday they get closer—_she_ gets closer, that skinny dough-faced broad with the attitude. Not on to me yet—but they will be. Don't know anything for sure… but they suspect it. They're cracking their goddamn case, and it's my fault… in a way._

_How could I guess they'd get Her name? How could they possibly come across it?_

_Idiot bitch. She and those fucking police mutt sidekicks of hers. Why can't they just leave things alone? It fell into their laps and like a dog with a stick, they just can't let it go._

_Can't they see no one cares about this—no one cares about Her?_ _If they did, they would've left no rock unturned searching for her back then. And no one did. No one gave a rat's ass—good riddance, that's what they said. And no one gives a damn now! So what's the use of digging into it?_

_It was Her fault really. All Her fault. She pushed me to it. But a judge will never see it that way—judges and juries never do. They'll always take Her side. The victim's side. Cause it's never the victim's fault, is it? Poor things—like they weren't ever out looking for trouble and got what they deserved. No fucking way._

_It would be so easy to leave—just skip town and disappear. But I can't. Matters are keeping me here—matters so important, I might as well be bolted to the ground. And everyday I gotta show these "matters" a smiling face and peaceful countenance and pretend like everything's okay. My life was perfect, and now it's hell. I don't deserve this. No one does. And all because of one mistake. One teeny-tiny long-ago mistake._

_Won't be long now._

_I've been watching her. High and mighty, strutting around like she owns the joint and everyone in it. Stuck-up bitch, that blonde—just like the other one. Same arrogance will be the end of her._

_I've followed her home. I know she takes the train every evening, walking alone in the cold darkness. She tries to act all menacing but deep down she's just a scared little girl—one who'd weep like a baby if I got my way with her._

_She lives in a townhouse. Risky choice—ground-floor living quarters are so easy to break into. _

_And I know she lives by herself. Lights are never on when she comes home… and there are cats mewing on her windowsill._

_It's not good to walk home in the cold darkness when there's no one waiting for you. Not good at all. Bad things happen to people who walk by themselves. Especially when there's no one to notice if you make it home or not._


	8. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Lilly pushed her key into the lock and turned it, pausing for a minute to listlessly shake her bangs out of her eyes. God, she was exhausted. Couldn't remember the last time she'd felt so physically and emotionally drained. Not sure if it was this impossible double case or the unsavory Scotty-Christina deal—probably a little bit of both. Whatever it was, she felt as if she'd just been through a wasting illness. She could barely see straight.

No sooner had she opened the door than both cats came swarming about her ankles, and she gathered Olivia into her arms, pressing her face into her warm fur until she squealed. Coming home after a long day of work _was_ the ultimate prize, no matter what anyone said. No more haunting faces. No more nagging voices. No more shadowy victims. No more irate coworkers with spiteful comments to respond to or deflect. Just silence, blessed silence… and her cats.

Most people were scared of being alone. Not Lilly Rush. She preferred solitude to some other evils. Though she had to admit bunking with Chris had been nice… for a while. Nothing good had come out of it, however. That was the thing with people—you couldn't trust them. Offer them a hand and they'll take your elbow. Show a little softness and that's it—a kick in the teeth is all you'll get for being a decent human being, as often as not.

A twig snapped in the murkiness behind her and she jumped, whipping around, her heart in her throat. No one was there, obviously. Relief flooded over her along with a hot, prickly sensation of foolishness—_great, Rush, when did you start getting paranoid?_

But even after she'd looked a dozen times to make sure the street was empty, the strange, strung-up feeling remained. It wasn't so long ago, that time she'd come home to find someone had broken into it—spray painted her living room walls with a threatening message. That perp had been long since put away, but it had made her realize, chillingly, her fortress wasn't nearly as impenetrable as she'd like. If there hadn't been more important matters to dwell on at the time, she wouldn't have minded making a bigger fuss about it.

_It's not gonna happen again, _she lectured herself sharply. _That was a one time thing. The person who did it was caught. She's in jail. And no one else gives a hoot. So get a grip, will ya?_

Her heart was still hammering away as she whisked the cats in and shut the door firmly behind her. Double-lock the thing—no harm in that. Secure the chain bolt.

And if anyone got in, there was always her gun.

* * *

"So what have you got?"

"Had a little chat with the Bryants' daughter, Sarah. Nice, blonde twenty-four-year old girl. Pretty jumpy-looking, if you ask me," Vera quipped.

"Wouldn't own up to anything," put in Jeffries. "We poked her every way possible. Her story matches her parents'. Studying at this school in Virginia till a few months ago. Last time she visited her parents was Christmas 2002. Claims she had too much studying to do to come home for spring break the following year."

"And give up a trip to Aruba?" Stillman's eyebrow went up sky-high. "Sounds pretty far-fetched to me."

"Apparently she was flunking. Thus the three extra semesters. She's been taking summer courses to keep up ever since. Working nights, participating in research, tutoring freshmen..."

"I get the picture. Ever pregnant?"

"Nope. Or so she says. Never pregnant, never knew anyone to be pregnant, never heard of Dr. Swanson. Showed her Jane Doe's sketch—said she didn't recognize it."

"You buy it?"

"Hard to tell. She seemed pretty freaked out by the whole thing… but who wouldn't, if a cadaver were pulled off your backyard?"

"So nothing from her."

"Nope, nothing. But we questioned the neighbors and turned up something interesting. Local spinster—you know, the busybody type who spends her golden years glued to the window, hoping to catch everything going on—says the woman across the street from the Bryants was pregnant around 2002-2003. Wasn't too sure about the dates. She got to have a pretty large belly, but there was never any baby."

"Well—that looks auspicious. Did you question her?"

"Went to her house—the family had moved out January of last year. Nobody knows where they went. We got a name, though—Aura Kane. Husband Zachary Kane." Almost as an afterthought, Jeffries added, "And she's a curly, brown-eyed brunette."

* * *

"What're you gonna do with them?"

"We can't bury them, if that's what you're thinking, Lil," Frannie answered patiently. "They're evidence."

"But we can't just keep them here, in a box," Lilly went on worriedly. She was a little ashamed of herself for being so sentimental about this. But it just didn't seem right to keep the twins' tiny, crushed little bones in a cardboard box, as if they any old thing picked off a crime scene. Poor babies had been cheated out of a life—couldn't they at least be spared an undignified death?

"We have to. At least until we find their mother and get the true story on what happened here. So far, no one's DNA has matched. These kids aren't related to any of the Feldmans or the Bryants."

Vera burst into the room then, with a blast of cold air. "Rush—come on. Time to go shelter-hunting for that Jason Bailey kid. He hasn't turned up in any local police stations or hospitals, and he's not in jail. So he's gotta be in one of those."

Lilly gaped at him. "Thought me and Valens were looking into that angle."

Vera shrugged. "So did I, but Stillman told _me _to go with you, and he was pretty clear about it. Guess he thought the neighborhood would be too seedy and Scrawny over there wouldn't be bodyguard enough."

"Oh, please," Lilly scoffed, trying to come off lighthearted and quench the peculiar, uncomfortable feelings set in motion by this unexpected bit of news. Why wasn't she more thankful to be relieved from Scotty's presence at last? Especially considering the words exchanged the day before. She wasn't sorry for what she'd said—the idea of being hung over him was so preposterous—but her conscience stung her a little. She'd been so harsh, and his intentions were probably good… deep down…

_Ah, quit being so granny-hearted_, she rebuked herself sharply. _It's his own fault, really, for sticking his nose where it's not wanted. And if he's wrong, he's wrong—and should face up to it. Not everyone's dying to hop in bed with him, after all._

* * *

Jason Bailey surfaced in the third shelter they visited—the largest, poorest, and by far the filthiest. Even the volunteers sitting at the front desk in their overcoats looked grubby. The walls were covered in mold and crumbling with age, part of the windows were missing and the few panes left were coated by a thick layer of grime. The main room stunk with the stench of a few homeless sleeping in a corner.

"It's supposed to be a night shelter, but we don't have the heart to throw them out during these frosty days," the man in charge half-heartedly informed them. "They gotta keep out of the bedrooms though. So if your guy's here, he'll be in this room."

Jason Bailey didn't stray far from the typical rebellious, sullen, crack-addicted teenager. His hair, dyed black, hung in long, dirty tufts, his face was riddled with piercings of all shapes and sizes, his eyes hidden under the dirty woolen cap he wore. The hands clasped around his knees were gracefully long-fingered but rough and blue and chapped with cold.

He refused to acknowledge them at first. Vera had to practically get in his face and point out a few of his nasty old habits before getting a snarled response out of him.

"Whadda you guys want?" Without so much as a glance. "Cause if it's about the dope, I ain't got none."

_Sure you don't._

"We're not here to talk about the drugs or the hold-up, Jason," Lilly attempted, crouching down to his eye level. "We just want to talk about your family. And what happened ten years ago."

Twitching his face away, "I got nothin' to say."

Lilly shifted so she was in front of him again. For a second Jason's eyes met hers. They were dull, empty, nearly the same color as his hands. "You're blonde," he mumbled condemningly. "I don't talk to blondes."

"Why? Because your mom's a blonde?"

"I just don't. Big fucking deal. Get outta my face, Barbie doll."

"Hey! Show some respect," Vera snapped. "Come on, kid, be straight with us. We're not gonna give you a hard time about the other things. We're just trying to figure out what happened to your mom."

"Why don't you ask my dad?" Jason's voice was dripping with sarcasm. "He killed her."

Vera shot Lilly a startled glance. "Why do you say that? Did you see it?"

"I ain't seen that old fart in years. Didn't seen nothin'. Never did."

"That's a pretty serious accusation you're making there, Jason," reasoned Lilly. "You must have something to back it up with."

"So what if I did? Nobody cares. I'm just trash. Why should anyone believe me?"

"So why do you think he killed her?"

"Why?" The kid's eyes went from half-open cracks to bulging balloons in an instant. For one sad moment, Lilly saw a ghost of the smiling young Erica Bailey polaroid in his sallow visage. "Cause she was a fucking whore, that's why."

Well, that was one thing he and his dad seemed to agree on.

"So… there was another man?"

Jason Bailey glowered at Vera. "Yeah, there was another guy. Saw them one night. Out in the driveway. Makin' out like there was no tomorrow."

"What did he look like?"

"What do I know? It was dark and I was just a little kid. Thought it was my old man, at first. Then I remembered he worked late that day. And anyways this guy was too tall and had too much hair."

"So why do you think your dad killed her?" Lilly insisted. "Wouldn't it have been easier for her to just run away with this man? You received a letter, two months afterwards—"

"Yadda-yadda. 'Course I remember that stupid letter. My old man wrote it. You gotta be an idiot not to see that."

"You see him write it?"

"No, but—duh, Sherlock. Obvious. My kid sister ate it up but I didn't buy any of that shit. He killed her. And I ain't sorry."

"You ever actually see your dad have a confrontation with your mom?"

"No, man. My old man's spineless, he ain't worth a dime. But I saw him cleaning the bloody knife. A day after she left. In the kitchen sink. A big old breadknife, just dripping with her blood, to stab you when you ain't looking, like this—"

He lunged at Lilly, who was still sitting on her heels a few feet before him. Lilly, startled, jerked herself away but he still managed to reach her shoulder, pounding it hard with his cold stiff knuckle, practically knocking her backwards onto the floor. In a moment he had broken into a sprint out the door and was gone.

"Jesus," Vera yelped, helping Lilly to a standing position. "You okay?"

"Yeah." _Aside from smarting with disgrace at being sucker-punched by some runaway addicted kid I was supposed to be interrogating. _"So now what? So much for trying to get a handwriting sample off him. He'll be long gone if we ever decide to come back looking for him."

"Nutcase," muttered Vera darkly. "Let's ask the guy at the front desk. Maybe they make them sign somewhere."

"Think there's any truth to what he said?"

"Who knows. But the kid is messed up for sure. He saw _some_thing. We should hear what good old daddy has to say about this jolly breadknife story."


	9. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

"Some bodyguard _you _are," Lilly said mockingly, nursing her wounded shoulder with one hand as they made their hasty way toward Stillman's office. "I'm gonna need ice for this."

"How was I supposed to know he was gonna do that?" Vera returned defensively, throwing his arms up in the air. "Vicious punk. Demented asshole. Should be put in a looney institution."

"Bet a _real _bodyguard would've known," Lilly retorted. Her shoulder was pretty much okay, actually. Her fair skin bruised much less easily than most people thought. Thankfully.

Spirits were high because they'd managed to come up with Jason Bailey's signature—and since he still signed like a ten-year-old, it was a fairly acceptable handwriting sample. So the morning had been worth it, even if the bread knife story didn't pan out. Lilly honestly could not see it happening—Aaron Bailey harbored way too much resentment, conspicuous resentment, to have killed his wife. If he'd murdered her over her infidelity, he'd technically be avenged—so what would be the point of holding a grudge? Unless it was all part of an act… a really good, convincing one.

Then again… actors were everywhere. You couldn't take anyone at face-value.

Scotty and Jeffries came sailing down the hall toward them.

"Hey, guys," saluted Lilly and Vera optimistically, prompting a courteous nod and smile from Jeffries. But Scotty just pushed past them as if he'd never laid eyes on them in his life.

"What bee flew up _his _ass?" grumbled Vera in a huff. "Wouldn't have killed him to say hello. Think he's sore at me for getting his assignment?"

Lilly gazed after him, the faint remorse she'd been battling all day getting sickeningly stronger. "Nah. I'm sure he's got other things on his mind besides his boyfriend… lover boy."

Long live deadpan humor. Deadpanning would always fend off a thorny situation when nothing else could.

Vera stared at her in appalled disbelief. "Lover boy? I think that punch just gave you brain damage, Rush. Come on, hurry up. Let's go give this piece of junk to someone who'll knowwhat to do with it."

* * *

Jeffries was constantly keeping a furtive eye on his people. He wasn't sure what was up with Scotty now, but the kid was definitely in a precarious frame of mind. Something had taken place between him and Lilly. Something new, different from the skirmish he'd caught them in the middle of that time. That was as close to seeing Lilly lose it as he ever had been. And now Scotty seemed treacherously near that same point.

Sure their relationship had been strained for a while now. But even so, Scotty had always been polite. Not always dependable, perhaps—there were those days he'd nearly hit rock-bottom, reeking of alcohol, forgetting leads. But he'd improved a great deal since then, and open hostility had never been part of his MO. This morning he hadn't even said hello. And Jeffries wasn't blind. He'd spotted Scotty coming out of Stillman's office, bright and early that same day, before he and Vera went in to report what they'd found. His jaw had been clenched, and Stillman's face was not that of a man pleased afterwards. He'd offered no justification as to why they'd been re-partnered, he with Scotty, Vera with Lilly. But was any really necessary?

The man at his side was a man fuming. Trying hard to maintain his professional demeanor—one he _had _to maintain, on account of past mistakes. But his emotions showed.

"We've located Aura Kane. In Berlin," the object of his observation shortly notified him.

"Berlin? Germany?"

"No, New Jersey," Scotty responded humorlessly, slipping into the driver's seat of their designated car. "Come on, Will. It'll take us half an hour. Let's go solve this damn mystery once and for all."

The woman who greeted them was lanky, with a mass of cascading brown curls and a guarded countenance. Her mouth dropped open on seeing them and stayed open after they'd introduced themselves and explained the motive for their visit. She wasn't a dead ringer for Jane Doe's composite, but there were some distinct similarities.

"What does all this have to do with me?"

"We heard from a Mrs. Myrtle Gallagher you were pregnant around 2002, but there was never any visible baby. Would you mind telling us what happened?"

Aura Kane's mouth shut at last. Her eyes fluttered, her lips tightened, and for one anxious moment Jeffries was afraid she would burst into tears. He knew full well he should be hardened to this by now—but he never could like being responsible for making someone cry. Even when it was the only way to pry a confession out of them.

"I _do _mind," she whispered, keeping her face downcast. "But I'll talk if it helps. I _was _pregnant near the end of 2002. Eight months, to be exact. It was a girl. Our first girl—the other four are boys. Then, one day, I woke up and she just wasn't moving. I figured she was asleep at first, and began eating and moving around to wake her up. But after a few hours I knew something was wrong. So I went to the hospital, and there she was, in the ultrasound. Her heart had stopped. She was dead."

Jeffries felt awful for making her re-live the memory. Children weren't supposed to die before you—it went against the laws of nature. Even unborn children, whom you'd never met. Being estranged from your offspring was bad enough…

"Did you ever find out what happened?"

"Umbilical cord accident, the doctors said. A freak injury—could happen to anyone. But I can't help thinking… maybe if I'd rested more, if I'd gone to the hospital sooner, if I'd not been taking that pain medication for my back… maybe she'd still be alive."

Even Scotty's gruff tone had suddenly become softer. "Mrs. Kane, I hate to ask this of you, but do you have a copy of the birth certificate of this child?"

Through her tears, Aura Kane nodded. "I've got the death certificate and the autopsy report, too, if you want them."

"Thanks, ma'am. That would really help."

"So what do you think?" Scotty hissed, as soon as she was out of earshot.

Jeffries shook her head. "She's not the one we're looking for. We should still check her hospital records, see if they back up her story. But I'm pretty sure she's telling the truth."

"We still gotta ask her to give blood, though. If her hospital records don't match, she won't be sticking around waiting for us to come back."

Jeffries cringed. There were few things he wanted less than to have to tell this woman she had to get stuck with a needle to prove she wasn't the mother of the dicephalus twins. But Scotty was right. If his gut feeling turned out to be wrong and she was lying—there'd be hell to pay for not getting any incriminating evidence.

Aura Kane wandered back into the living room, her eyes puffy and red-rimmed. "We stopped trying after her," she murmured unsteadily, handing them two typewritten reports. "I never want to go through that again. I was clinically depressed for nearly a year afterwards. My family had a hard time of it."

Jeffries studied the reports. They looked genuine enough. Time of death: 4:22 pm, December 12th, 2002. Cause of death: severe hypoxia due to probable umbilical cord accident. True umbilical cord knot.

"Mrs. Kane, this is just standard procedure," he began. "Because you were pregnant around the time we assume the babies found in the Bryants' backyard died, we need to rule you out as a suspect."

Aura Kane's words trembled dangerously. "You mean the reports aren't enough?"

"They help. But, yes, we do need more. We need a blood sample… for DNA testing."

For a second it looked as though she was going to fall apart. Her hands started shaking uncontrollably and her chin quivered. But just as suddenly she caught hold of herself and her reply rang out remarkably calm and detached. "All right. Whatever you need. Anything to find the person who did this. Whoever it is doesn't deserve to live."

It was more cooperation than they'd expected, and something about it gave Jeffries goosebumps.

"Mrs. Kane, did you notice anyone else pregnant in the neighborhood, or anything strange going on in the Bryants' house, near the end of 2002 or the beginning of 2003?"

"No… We kept to ourselves. Didn't really know our neighbors too well. But the Bryants were a nice family. Quiet. They had a teenage boy but he never gave any trouble."

"What about the time they went on that trip, in March 2003? Did they ask you or anyone else in the neighborhood to keep an eye on their house for them?"

"What trip? I don't remember that house ever being empty. There was always someone there."

"They claim they went on a trip to Aruba in March 2003, leaving the house empty for three weeks."

Aura Kane waved her head in confusion. "I could be wrong, I guess. I wasn't doing too well back then. But there were always lights on as far as I recall. And I really don't think there was anyone else pregnant. Most of the people in the block were past their childbearing years… except Dr. Swanson's girlfriend…"

Scotty all but choked. "Who?"

"Dr. Swanson. Greg, he wanted us to call him. I never could get used to that. He lived across the street from us… right next to the Bryants. He was so nice to me after I lost the baby… Too bad they didn't stay in the neighborhood long. They moved out even before we did. Some time spring 2003."


	10. Chapter 9

**As usual, big hugs to all my faithful reviewers--especially myril, Alamo girl, and Snow Ivy for their detailed accounts. Love getting your opinions!**

* * *

**Chapter 9**

Aaron Bailey was still home, and had been all day by the looks of him, by the time they pulled up in front of his driveway later that afternoon. The scanty winter sun had just hidden behind the facade, making his narrow front porch dimmer and even more uninviting.

"Oh—_you _again," was the warm welcome, pronounced in a dead, uninterested monotone. "I figured you'd come back. So what have you found?"

"We had a little talk with your son, Mr. Bailey," announced Lilly nonchalantly. "And he had some pretty interesting stuff to tell."

Something came across Aaron Bailey's face. Lilly had anticipated some sort of reaction—surprise, anger, apprehension maybe. Not this hopeful blaze. Because hopeful it was—even if his voice was brusque as ever as he droned, "So you found him, huh?"

"Yeah."

"Where?"

"Homeless shelter." Vera's features became inscrutable with a look only Lilly knew how to interpret. It was his 'cross-examination' stance. Total emptiness—give nothing away, let the suspect do the talking. "Kid didn't look well, Bailey. Bony and half-dressed. Stoned up to his armpits. And he sure didn't have much of a good word to put in for you."

Aaron Bailey scowled. "No surprise. That little punk always had it in for me. I never could do right by him—no matter how hard I tried. He was a bad seed, just like his mother."

Lilly wondered if she was the only one who caught the plaintive note in the last part of this sentence. _That's right, Aaron, _she thought. _Pretend you don't like the kid. Keep him at arm's length and maybe his attitude won't hurt so damn much._

She decided the point-blank approach was as good as any. "He claims you killed your wife. Says he saw you washing a knife in the sink, the day following her disappearance. A knife covered in blood. So what do you have to say for yourself?"

Aaron Bailey stiffened, his eyes swirling so dark it was impossible to know what was going through his mind. For a moment Lilly backed off, bracing herself for an attack. There certainly seemed to be some violent sort of emotion ripping through his insides. But then, as abruptly as it had come, it was gone, and with it came a derisive chuckle.

"I don't need to say anything. These will speak for me." Dragging his hands out of his pockets, he pulled up the sleeves of his sweatshirt to reveal multiple scars along both forearms, some thick, some thin—long horizontal slashes, all the way up to his elbows. "The blood on that knife wasn't her blood. It was mine."

Lilly and Vera blinked. Not much they could say to that, was there.

"Do you still do this… self-mutilating?" Lilly ventured.

Aaron Bailey shrugged. "Occasionally. When life gets too much for me."

"When did you start?"

"That night was the first time I did it. Had no idea Jason was looking. He was supposed to be in bed, the little brat. My wife was gone and I thought something terrible had happened to her. I was never a whole person before her—never been whole since. I couldn't cope without her. And then there were these two snot-nosed kids to raise…"

"Were you trying to commit suicide?" Vera interjected.

"Nah. Just… wanted to get rid of the pain. Physical pain beats emotional any day of the week. Giving yourself a nice deep cut is as good for getting your mind off your troubles as taking a long stiff drink."

_I don't doubt it, _Lilly contemplated wryly. "Tell us more about the day she left."

"It was a Friday. I came home from work and the kids were by themselves. My girl screeching in her crib. That never happened. No note—nothing. I figured maybe she'd gone to the grocery store or something. So I waited. But she never came back."

"How long was it before you called the police?"

"When she still hadn't come home at midnight, I called 911, but they gave me the whole 24 hours crap. So I waited the 24 hours and filed a missing person's report. Then I came home, put the kids to bed, went into the kitchen, grabbed a knife and got down to business."

"Anyone who can back you up on that?"

"Work records." Once again a strange air came over him. "It's funny," he mused. "All these years I've been wondering what I could have done to make my son hate me so much. And here he was thinking I killed his mother."

"So did you?" grilled Vera.

"No. But I wish I had. I loved Erica. I hate her now, but I loved her then. She betrayed me and she betrayed the kids—she deserves to be dead. I hope she suffered."

* * *

Gemma Whitney acknowledged them the minute they walked into the clinic, the bright smile bestowed on them marred by a slightly troubled look. "Dr. Swanson's really busy today—I'll try to make a slot for you. Just a second."

It was crowded, all right. Far more than the first time they'd come around. Everywhere Scotty directed his gaze, it fell on women in various stages of pregnancy—some looking big enough to topple over where they stood. His attention followed Gemma's heels as they clicked competently down the hall toward the culprit's office.

"Scotty, I gotta ask you something." Jeffries' voice held a warning, startling him out of his reverie.

"What's that?"

"It's about you and Lil."

"Oh." _Should've guessed, _he reflected dourly, turning away"I don't wanna talk about it."

Jeffries didn't let him. "I know you asked Stillman to separate the both of you. I just wanna know where you stand."

Scotty sighed, suppressing the tight awkward half-smile that crawled to his lips. _Damn it, Will! What part of I don't wanna talk about it' do you not understand?_ "I just don't wanna have anything more to do with her," he muttered resignedly. "She wouldn't let off and I got sick of trying to deal with it. I got enough things on my mind, you know? My patience is gone."

Jeffries nodded, and appeared about to put in some two cents of his own when Gemma came back, her brow wrinkled. "Dr. Swanson will see you now."

"Ah, the good detectives," crooned Swanson sardonically as they stepped into his office. His expression lit up somewhat on seeing Scotty, only to darken again as it settled on Jeffries. "What a pleasant surprise. You seem to have switched partners, however. Your delectable sidekick is nowhere to be seen."

Jeffries did a double take. _Delectable sidekick?_ Was this guy for real? He could just envision Lilly punching his lights out.

Scotty ignored him. "Enough with the chit-chat, _Greg. _We know all about your little games."

Dr. Swanson folded his hands, bored. "And what games might you be referring to?"

"We just met an old friend of yours, one who goes by the name of Aura Kane. She ring any bells to you?"

"Perhaps. So?"

"So she lived across the street from the house the body was found in. And, curiously enough, you lived right across the street from _her_. 1453 Lincoln Drive. Right next door to the burial site. Weird, ain't it?"

"Indeed. What an amazing coincidence."

"She was also kind enough to mention you had a girlfriend with you—one in, I quote, 'childbearing years'. And that you moved away in spring 2003," was Jeffries' contribution.

"This is all very fascinating," Swanson interposed. "But what's it have to do with me? And, I remind you, I _do _have patients waiting."

"You knock up your girlfriend, Greg?"

"I don't know, detective. You knock up yours?" came the rejoinder, innocently put.

_Shit,_ Jeffries swore inwardly. _This is gonna get ugly._

"Cut the crap, Swanson," Scotty's body, taut enough to explode, remained a prudent 3 feet away from Swanson, saving Jeffries the trouble of having to restrain him. The kid was getting more controlled, that was for sure. "You really expect us to believe you had _nothing_ to do with it—living right next to where the body was found, with a possibly pregnant girlfriend, and you the only one who knew these kids existed?"

Cool as a cucumber, Dr. Swanson demurred, "That's just mindless speculation. It would never stand up in a court of law and you know it. Circumstantial evidence. No proof whatsoever."

"Well, guess what?" Scotty spat. "We can get proof. All we need is some hair. And a get-together with your former sweetheart, Lisa Underwood."

"Be my guest," Dr. Swanson drawled. "I got nothing to hide."

* * *

"No matches," Stillman stated somberly, letting the disappointing DNA reports fall back onto his desk. This case was a goddamn nightmare—he was beginning to fear they'd never be able to crack it. It was like one of those crazy little kid mazes they had as placemats in fast-food places—all roads leading nowhere.

"What about Swanson's?" Scotty pressed on, ever hopeful. "That one can't possibly be ready yet."

"Lab's still on it, but the blood group's discordant. No way he's the father."

"Fuck damn," burst out Vera, and though Stillman glowered his disapproval, deep down he felt the same way.

Moving on to the next point…

"What about this girlfriend of his—Lisa Underwood?"

"We still haven't located her, John," Jeffries answered from his computer. "Seems to have dropped off the face of the earth. Last we have on her, she was working at some elementary school in east Philly. No current address listed."

"Just because Swanson's not the father doesn't mean he's not involved," Stillman pondered aloud, pacing. "He's still our main suspect. Hope you instructed him about not skipping town. Bring him in early tomorrow morning for a polygraph. Meanwhile let's get a warrant to search his house and office." Turning to Lilly and Vera, "any news on Erica Bailey?"

"Just a whole bunch of dead ends," gloomily replied Lilly. "Husband says she ran away, son says the father did it, father denies it. Neither one of them wrote the second half of the letter, according to handwriting analysis. CSU couldn't find any prints on it or any trace of blood on Aaron Bailey's kitchen knives. Oh—and his alibi checks out. But there are four hours he's unaccounted for, supposedly the time he waited for Erica to come home."

"The son could confirm or deny that," Vera said. "But we're not gonna be running into him anytime soon."

Shaking his head, Stillman heaved a sigh. "Well, at least we know for sure there was another man involved. All right, enough. Go home, get some sleep, all of you. We're gonna need it. Looks like we're not getting rid of this one so easily."

* * *

In the dead of night, Scotty was jolted out of sound sleep by the ear-splitting clamor of his phone ringing. At first he refused to believe it was true, tried to roll around and hide under the covers to block out the noise. But the shrilling persisted, ruthlessly drilling into his brain till he was forced to flail out in the shadows and grab the receiver.

"Valens," he slurred dazedly.

"_Leave the case_," growled the warped metallic twang of a voice distorter. "_I know who you are. I've been watching you. Leave the case you're working on or there'll be hell to pay._"

"Wha—?" Scotty stammered, trying to shake off his deep drowsiness.

"_I'm not kidding. Don't you think I know about that blonde cunt you're going around with? Nice piece of ass you got there, wouldn't mind a piece of it myself._"

"Wait a minute. Who the hell are you?" _And how the fuck does he know about Christina?_ Scotty wondered in panic, the last wisps of sleep still clinging to his mind.

"_Back off the case, I'm telling you. Tell that blonde bitch to back off. Or I'll make her get what she deserves."_

Not Chris, he realized suddenly, his stomach an icy bottomless pit of dread.

Lilly. He's talking about Lilly.

"_I could be standing in her house right now. Who'd think that cocky bitch would look so nice and innocent while she's sleeping? I could just reach down and—_"

The phone went dead in Scotty's hand.

"Wait!" he commanded, a second too late. _Fuck! Fuck! _he thought, slamming the phone down on his bed, his heart beating so loud it threatened to leap out of his chest. _Now what do I do?_

_Call Lilly. Call her now!_

His fingers began punching out the numbers.

_But what if it's a joke? _a sinister resentful little demon reminded him. _You wanna get laughed at again, Valens? _Cops got threatened every day of the week; this wasn't news. Nothing was going to happen—it was _Lilly, _for God's sake. Not some helpless simpering female. She professed she didn't need any friends, she could take care of herself—well, let her. She'd finally get the chance to prove herself.

_Not if she's asleep with a maniac's standing over her bed, she can't—_reality kicked in, crashing into his gut with the weight of a battering ram.

Lilly might be the toughest, meanest, most kick-ass woman in the world while she was awake—but asleep, she didn't have a chance. And this lunatic could really hurt her. Wasn't that above all petty fights and other considerations?

He went for the phone again.

But he dialed Stillman's number.


	11. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

There were few things Lilly Rush hated more than being stirred out of her slumber. She had learned to put up with it, working homicide and all—the practically springing out of bed straight into some gory crime scene at the first beep of her cell phone. But this type of call was a first.

"Lil," Stillman barked out, without so much as a greeting. "You okay?"

"Boss? Yeah, I'm fine." And sitting up in bed, wide awake in an instant. "What's going on?"

"We've received a threatening phone call from someone who says he's in your house."

Her body's response to these words could only be compared to being dunked in a well of icy cold water. The shivers were plentiful and irrepressible, even after she'd turned on the lights to find everything, in her room at least, undisturbed.

"We're coming over," Stillman ordered. "Stay in your room, lock the door and keep your gun with you. Don't come out till we get there."

_Like hell._

She couldn't follow these very simple instructions, even knowing it was probably the safest and most sensible thing to do. There was just no way Lilly Rush was going to stand by and hide while her house was raided by some unknown punk. The nerve…!

Still… brave was the last thing she felt as she walked through every room, both upstairs and down, gun in hand, eyes peeled for any signs of a perpetrator. There were none.

Fifteen minutes later, the house was teeming with police. Lilly lingered by with Stillman while Vera and the others ransacked the house and found nothing.

"No signs of forced entry, nothing taken or disturbed," Vera affirmed. "This guy was never here. Not that we can tell, anyway. Son of a bitch was bluffing."

"Where's Jeffries and Scotty?" Lilly asked, trying to mask her uneasiness. She hated the idea of the one place she felt absolutely safe in—her home—being overrun and violated like this. A whole bunch of strange uniforms going through her things, scaring her cats… it was almost as bad as having someone break in in the first place.

"At headquarters, trying to trace the number. Scotty was the one who took the call."

"Scotty?" That was weird. Why would anyone call Scotty to threaten _her_? It wasn't like he was going to go overboard protecting her, the way they were getting along."What'd they say exactly?"

"Basically to back off the case or else," answered Stillman. "So it's pretty clear he has something to do with it."

"Voice sound familiar?"

"No, he used a distorter."

"Then how do you know it was a man?"

It was a simple question and shouldn't have prompted such a discomfited glance from both Vera and Stillman.

"It was mostly what he said," Stillman prevaricated hesitantly. "Of course we don't know for sure."

Lilly got the message. _It must've been pretty bad for Scotty to set off the alarm like this, _she marveled dolefully, running a tense hand through her already disheveled hair. Considering he hadn't given her the time of day lately, nothing short of a death sentence would've got past his monumental grudge. Not that she could really blame him. Odd how his betrayal with Christina and that offending secret he was never supposed to know no longer seemed so important.

If anything positive could be derived from this, it was at least comforting to know _someone _was feeling endangered by their investigation—that meant they had to be getting somewhere, didn't it? Even when it seemed they weren't. People didn't just go around making idle threats. They stepped forward only when they were so desperate they'd risk anything to avoid getting caught… including getting caught. It was the great criminal paradox.

When people felt vulnerable, they made mistakes—and if any had been made here, no matter how small, they'd be able to pin them down and nail the bastard.

Stillman's next comment was a thunderbolt out of a clear sky.

"We're posting someone at your house, Lil."

"What? Boss, no!" Lilly's heart sank. Some rookie cop snooping through her drawers, watching her TV while she was at work! As if it weren't bad enough they'd just seen her in her bathrobe. "Come on, you said so yourself—he was only bluffing."

"It was a serious threat, Lil. And we're not planning on backing off this case, so you and Scotty need some sort of protection. It won't be long—only till we catch this guy."

"I can take care of it," insisted Lilly frantically, though she knew, by the hard finality of Stillman's voice, he wouldn't be moved. It was the right call, anyway—if it had happened to any of the other guys, she'd be doing exactly the same. But the thought of losing her precious privacy was just too awful to be quietly consented to. "Nothing's gonna happen, boss. You know that."

"They already broke into your house once, Lil," Stillman sternly cut her off. "And your neighbors didn't see squat. Can't afford to lose anyone. Someone's staying here and that's final."

"Boss—that was Scotty," Vera put in from the next room, cell phone in hand. "They've traced the call and want us over there pronto."

_Might as well go, _Lilly sighed. _This night is shot anyway. And I don't feel like sticking around and playing hostess to my new bodyguard. _"Just give me a minute while I change," she muttered sourly.

* * *

The call had been made from some pay phone across town. No one was there by the time they reached it, evidently—and CSU pulled over a dozen prints off it. Only three of them were in IAFIS, two of them were women, and the man was a 20-year-old who'd spent six months in jail for drug possession. It was fairly obvious none of them was their mysterious caller—but they'd all still have to be visited as soon as it was light.

"What a waste of time," Vera whined, and Scotty couldn't help but agree.

His glance kept straying toward Lilly, haggard and irritable at being dragged out of the house in the middle of the night, but whole and unharmed. Those minutes he'd waited in breathless apprehension for Stillman to call him back had been among the worst of his life, topped off only by the grim notice of Elisa's death. All the warm friendship and respect he'd felt for her at the beginning of their partnership came flooding back, along with the guilt of knowing if anything happened to her, their last words exchanged would have been in senseless anger and intransigence.

Now that she wasn't in direct danger anymore, he didn't really know how to proceed. She had acknowledged him on arrival, but nothing beyond the usual "morning". His pride wouldn't allow him to just bury the hatchet and forget everything that had transpired, especially since he wasn't in the wrong. But he could afford to let it simmer down and call it truce if she would. There were more important issues at hand, anyway.

At nine o'clock sharp Lilly and Vera left to interview the three identified suspects and a disconcertingly willing Dr. Swanson was brought in for the polygraph. It was just as well Lilly wasn't around to be exasperated by him—smug son of a bitch. He answered each and every one of the questions in a flawlessly calm, crisp voice, and had nothing but a leer for them when the results were inconclusive.

"Well, that helps a hell of a whole lot," Scotty grumbled, giving the nearest wastebasket a vicious kick as he turned away, crestfallen.

"Remember it wouldn't stand up in a court of law anyway," Stillman somberly consoled him. "You think he's the mysterious caller?"

Scotty glared at the aforesaid personage through the glass partition. "I don't know. Could've been anyone. Sure didn't sound like something he'd say, though. This jerk's much too full of himself to stoop to that kind of vocabulary."

"I got something," Jeffries announced, poking his head through the door. "Found Lisa Underwood. Called her school and it turns out she's been out of the country these past two years, getting some sort of Master's degree."

_Well, ain't that just fine and dandy. _"Son of a—" Scotty burst in frustration, his foot going for the wastebasket again.

"No, but she's back now. Just a few days ago. The principal gave me her new address."

* * *

Lisa Underwood was all wrong from the start. She had the wrong biotype—willowy, with long strawberry-blonde hair, glasses, and a figure that could never have borne nine months of carrying a pair of twins inside her. She was definitely better cut for a model than the elementary school teacher she was.

"Me, pregnant?" Her astonishment seemed sincere. Looking at her, Lilly couldn't help but believe her. "No, we never had any plans for it. Greg and I weren't that serious, really. We were just together for a while, we knew it wouldn't be forever. I work with children everyday—I know what happens when their parents are together for the wrong reasons. Wouldn't want that for my own."

"Why did you move out in April 2003?"

"We broke up," stated Lisa simply. "I had my Master's to go to and he didn't feel like tagging along. As I said before, we weren't really suited to each other. It was a nice neighborhood, full of families. But that kind of house is too large for just one person. So when we split up I left and I guess he must've followed soon after."

"We suspect the mother of the babies we found may have been one of Swanson's patients," Vera put in. "Did he ever bring any of his patients home, or did you ever catch him at anything suspicious with any of them?"

"No, Greg never took work home with him. Contrary to what it seems, he can be sweet when he wants to be. He was nice to the woman across the street when she lost her baby. He was the one who received her in the ER."

"So we hear," Vera remarked acidly.

Lilly shot him a glare that said: _cool it. _They'd have to play nice if they wanted to get anything useful out of this woman."Ever hear him mention anything about a pair of conjoined twins?"

"No, never. He knew I didn't like to talk about work. He…" Lisa paused for a second, fiddling with her shoe, as if debating whether to go on or not. "I know I said he was sweet sometimes, but other times he could be a real prick. I got sick of hearing the condescending way he ranted about his patients and his receptionist. It was one of the things that broke us up."

_That I believe._ In fact, Lilly was surprised they'd lasted long enough to move in together. Lisa didn't seem like the sort of woman who'd take crap from him. She wondered what she'd seen in him in the first place.

"How about your other neighbors, the Bryants? Did you know them?"

"Not much," Lisa admitted. "We kept to ourselves, mostly because we were both too busy to mingle much. And we stayed such a short time. I really don't think Greg ever talked to them or even saw them. And I only talked to them once."

"Who did you talk to?"

"The girl."

Vera pounced on this at once. "What girl?"

Lisa's brilliant blue eyes went round. "I don't even remember her name. A blonde girl, twenty, maybe twenty-two years old."

"When was this?"

"I don't know. March, maybe. Just a few weeks before I left. I'd seen her once before—around Christmas. I presumed she was a college kid home for spring break."

"What did she want?"

"Just some bleach. Apparently they'd run out. I let her borrow some."

Following a hunch, Lilly pressed on. "Did you let her in the house?"

"Yeah—some five minutes, maybe. Why?"

"Anything missing afterwards?"

"Not that I recall."

"Greg ever complain anything was missing around that time?"

Lisa scrunched up her face in concentration. "Well… there _was _this one thing, but we always thought he'd left it there himself."

"What?"

"Just this old tool he had. A relic of his grandfather's. An old Simpson forceps he kept stowed away in a little case. One day it just disappeared and turned up in his office a few days later. We figured he must've grabbed the case by accident and left it there. It wasn't like him to move it, but I'd been doing some cleaning and taken it out of the closet it was usually stored in."

Trying to conceal her mounting excitement, Lilly asked, "He still have it?"

Lisa shrugged. "I guess so. He was pretty attached to it. Me, I thought it was a little disgusting he kept it around. I mean—the thing had been inside who knew how many women! But he almost had a heart attack when he couldn't find it."


	12. Chapter 11

At long last, an update. A big round of applause to my faithful reviewers for their kind support, especially Snow Ivy, Tati aka Trinity, and peachy14.

Sikspy: I'll be happy to send you references of any medical fact you find doubtful in this story. Just send me an email.

**Disclaimer: **I obviously don't own Cold Case. If I did,what they have plannedforseason 3 would never happen. :(

**

* * *

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**Chapter 11**

Lilly couldn't keep the excitement out of her words. "Could something called a Simpson forceps be what was used to break the twins' heads?"

"Basically, any kind of forceps could've done it," Frannie replied, gazing thoughtfully into the box containing the twins' remains. "It's hard to tell at this point, the skulls are so fragmented. One thing I can say for sure—this person knew exactly what they were doing. This isn't a case of bad technique accidentally fracturing a baby's cranium. These were purposely crushed to make it possible for them slide easily down the birth canal. The person who delivered them knew there were two heads and that it'd be impossible to do otherwise."

"So it would have to be an OB?"

"Basically," Frannie agreed. "Or at least someone familiar enough with their work to know what to do. An OB would be the best choice… that Dr. Swanson of yours is beginning to sound suspicious as hell. You say these are _his _forceps?"

"Yeah. Some sort of keepsake. Jeffries and Scotty are on it right now. They're bringing them back here if they're still around. Think you'll be able to pull any physical evidence off them?"

"Maybe, if there are traces of blood left," Frannie considered. "Still… it's been 2 years. Might be able to get some prints, but they'll probably be Swanson's, and since it belongs to him anyway, it won't really prove anything."

Stillman appeared at the door, his countenance clouded. "So what else we got, Lil?"

"Just this blonde, college-aged girl," Lilly recounted as they wandered back to the main room. "Twice mentioned, never identified. Lisa Underwood seemed pretty sure it was Sarah Bryant, but we couldn't find any way to prove it."

"It would make sense," Stillman concurred. "Right looks, right age, right place, right time—"

"Not right place or right time," Lilly reminded him. "According to Vera and Jeffries, she was in Virginia when this all went down."

Stillman dismissed this with a wave of his hand. "Kids lie, Lil. Especially when they're under pressure. If she's in any way involved, she'll be shaking in her boots. Just the right time to bring her in and lean on her till she cracks. Unless she's got an alibi, she's the strongest thing we've got."

"Bad news, boss." Vera sprang up mournfully the minute they stepped in. "Jeffries just called. They stopped by to pick up Sarah Bryant and she's gone. House was empty when they got there and her parents as clueless as we are. Or so they say. They're coming in later."

"Oh, crap," Lilly fumed, letting herself slump into the nearest chair, feeling suddenly tired enough to drop. And why shouldn't she be? She'd been up since four o'clock that morning, thanks to that goddamn idiot phone lunatic. The only thing that had kept her on her feet was the welcome possibility of a lead. Now that was gone, her mood deflated like a balloon. "Now what?"

"Parents," grunted Stillman in disgust. "They give any sort of explanation?"

"According to Jeffries, she told them she was going on a business trip two days ago and disappeared. Haven't heard from her since."

"What do the people at work say?"

"There was no business trip. She asked for some flash vacation time and took off. Left everyone's head spinning. Her boss wasn't too pleased."

"I should say," Lilly grumbled. "Dammit, boss. What're we gonna do? Our main suspect's on the run. And what do we have on her, anyway? She's not even the mother."

"No, but this running away doesn't make me think too highly of her," Stillman stated. "The way you described Lisa Underwood's conversation, it sounded like the girl showed up and the forceps vanished."

"It did sound that way. Still… Sarah Bryant is into business management," Lilly puzzled. "How could she possibly know what the thing was for? How could she know what it was, even?"

"Must've got Swanson to deliver those kids somehow," Vera reflected. "I hear his polygraph was inconclusive. So it could pretty much go either way. Though wasn't he the first person to mention a blonde girl with Jane Doe? Why give her away knowing she'd just point her finger right back at him?"

"Good point," Stillman sustained. "Unless what he did wasn't illegal. Like delivering stillborns, for example."

The phone on Vera's desk rang and he sauntered off to answer it.

"Well, it's unethical, to say the least," Lilly rambled on, unable to let go. "He said so himself. Frannie was telling me a woman could die giving birth in those circumstances. It's criminal medical negligence at least—if not positive murder. We have no idea if this mother is even alive. What if she's not? What if her body's buried in that yard, as well?"

"CSU would've found it," Stillman tried to pacify her. "They raked the yard pretty effectively. Still, the idea of her not being alive is worth considering. Sarah Bryant will doubtlessly shed some light on the subject. If we can ever find her."

"Boss," Vera called, hanging up hurriedly. "Here's something interesting. That was the registrar over at Shenandoah University in Virginia, where Sarah Bryant claims to have studied. Turns out there's no way of knowing if she was on campus at the time or not. She was signed up for classes around that time, but none of them kept track of attendance."

"Oh, damn," Lilly scowled.

"Wait—haven't reached the good part yet. I had the registrar tell me what classes she had signed up for, so we could grill her on that if we ever did find her. And look at what I got," gloating as he displayed a piece of paper.

"Physiology," Lilly read aloud. "Comprehensive perinatal care." Her mouth dropped open. "What on earth? These have nothing to do with business."

"Nope." Vera smirked. "'Cause it turns out she wasn't studying business back then. She was in, I quote, 'the Certificate Program of Nurse-Midwifery'. Which, suspiciously enough, she quit shortly after—in June 2003."

"So _that's _the real reason she was stuck in college for so long," Lilly realized, her eyes widening.

"And a midwife would know exactly what to do with a pair of forceps if she saw one," Frannie added, appearing unexpectedly at their side. "They're not trained to use them, but they've seen OBs often enough. Believe me—this girl, even if she _has _an alibi, is a serious suspect."

* * *

Scotty's heart gave a little thrill of anticipation as they marched into Dr. Swanson's office. He was really looking forward to rubbing this new evidence in his face. _Oh, this is going to be sweet, _he thought, barely checking the huge Cheshire cat grin that threatened to break across his features. Finally that haughty son of a bitch was going to get a taste of his own medicine.

His expression on running into them for the second time that day was absolutely priceless. "What more could you possible want from me?" he demanded reticently. "I've given you everything you wanted—explanations, blood, a lie detector test—!"

"How about your little old Simpson forceps?" Scotty drawled offhandedly, leaning on the water purifier across the hall from the good doctor's door.

For once Swanson seemed at loss of words. His carefully-shaved jaw hung in midair in the most ridiculous way. "How would you know about that?"

"Oh, we know a lot of things about you now, _Greg_," Scotty egged on, thriving in the other man's discomfort as half a dozen bulging patients looked eagerly on. "Lots of things your friendly ex-girlfriend Lisa Underwood shared with us."

"Now I know you're bluffing," muttered Swanson, lips tight, retreating back into his office. "She's not even in the country. You'll be hearing from my lawyer."

"Hold on just a damn minute," Jeffries objected, grabbing his white-coated elbow calmly but firmly. "This is a crime we're talking about, Dr. Swanson, not some minor detail. Lisa Underwood is back in town. And we had an interview with her just this morning."

"Interesting, talkative gal," Scotty remarked helpfully. "Didn't like to hold anything back, did she, Will?"

"Nope. She told us all about that old tool of your grandpa's."

"So what?" Swanson's voice tried hard to remain impassive, but his darting eyes gave him away. He was nervous. Nervous as hell. "There's no law against having medical instruments in your own home. Especially if they're related to your job."

"Your ex-girlfriend was kind enough to inform us it conveniently went missing right around the time of the twins' birth and death."

"Ain't that a coincidence?" crowed Scotty.

"Sure is," Jeffries agreed.

"She told us something else, too. There was a blonde girl in your house. And wasn't there a blonde girl with the woman who had that ultrasound? You said so yourself. Big mouth catching up with you, _Greg?_"

"I don't know what you're talking about. Those things never disappeared. They're a relic—they haven't been used in 30 years. Maybe more. They were my _grandfather's. _What could they possibly have to do with anything?"

"Twenty bucks says they're what delivered those kids."

"Smashing their heads in the process," threw in Jeffries. "Now the question is, were they dead or alive when that happened? And who would dare or know how to use those forceps but you?"

"You're all crazy." Dr. Swanson shook his head disbelievingly. "How many times do I have to tell you I don't know anything about those kids? Aside from doing the ultrasound—and you don't even know if they're the _same_—"

"You still have these forceps?"

"Yes—at my house. In my closet, where they've always been."

"Wanna take us to them?" Scotty's voice oozed with triumph as he brandished the warrant, unable to hold the grin back any longer. "And afterwards you can come down to the station and play a nice game of show and tell with our boss."

* * *

Jenny and Beau Bryant, ever the model middle-aged couple, looked entirely out of place sitting opposite Vera and Lilly in the cold, shadowy interrogation room. Jenny's blue eyes were round with shock as she clasped her husband's arm for dear life.

"I really don't know what to say," she was stammering. "We've told you everything we know. Sarah said she was leaving on business. We didn't ask her where."

"Did she say when she'd be back?"

"Not really. Her trips usually last three days or so. She gets sent to New York City a lot."

"I take it you know by now her employers deny having sent her anywhere," Lilly acidly notified them.

"Yes. The other detective told us." Beau's voice trembled somewhat as he went on, "Do you honestly think my daughter had something to do with this?"

"So far she's our main suspect. She and Gregory Swanson, the obstetrician who lived next to you back in 2002. Sound familiar?"

"The name does," said Jenny tentatively. "We weren't too acquainted with that family. But Sarah _couldn't_ have had anything to do with him. She barely knew those people. She had already left for college when they moved in."

"His girlfriend assures a girl fitting Sarah's description who introduced herself as 'living next door' came to her house in March 2003, asking for some bleach," maintained Lilly.

"That's impossible." Beau shook his head. "She was at school back then. We left the house alone."

"Two people have already said the house never seemed empty."

"She never told us she'd be coming back." Jenny's eyes filled with tears. "Why wouldn't she tell us? It was still her house—she would've been welcome to it. All she had to do was ask. Maybe that's why she never…" She broke off. "Are you saying these babies buried in our yard—are hers?"

"No, we know she's not the mother," Vera clarified. "DNA has told us that much. But everything points to the fact she knew the mother—witnesses saw them together at Dr. Swanson's office in November 2002. As midwife, she could have assisted the birth of these babies. She might not be responsible for their death, but she probably did help cover it up."

"Now, we'll do everything we can for Sarah," Lilly promised them earnestly. "But first we need the complete truth. So tell me, did you find anything suspicious about your house when you returned?"

"No," Jenny said, shaking her head.

"Any indication someone had been there? Any trash? Rumpled beds? Leftover groceries?"

"No."

"We think this may be the twins' mother," Vera said, slapping the composite of Jane Doe down on the table. "You recognize this girl?"

Beau and Jenny Bryant traded a long, meaningful glance.

"Yes," Jenny declared at long last, fingering the picture shakily. "She looks like one of our daughter's old college friends."

Lilly's heart skipped a beat. No way they'd get so lucky. "A college friend?" she pressed on. "You remember the name?"

"It was like a president—" Beau began.

"Regan," Jenny cut him short. "Regan O'Donohue. She spent Thanksgiving with us, that last year Sarah came home. 2002."


	13. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

Find Regan O'Donohue. That was all they had to do and the case would be solved. Or so Stillman tried to make them believe. Vera couldn't for one minute presume it would be as easy as that—but there was Lilly scouring through the internet as if there were no tomorrow.

One thing they could at least be sure of. If Regan O'Donohue was still around and going by that name—Rush would find her. He just hoped it wouldn't be another dead end.

"Why you so sure Regan will lead us to Erica Bailey, boss?" he asked, tipping his chair back as far as it would go without dumping him onto the floor.

Stillman answered, but not before giving him an unwavering 'you should know that without asking by now' glare. "She has to have got Erica Bailey's ID from somewhere," he elucidated. "Who knows? Maybe she or Sarah knew her—or they came across her purse—or something. Might lead us to the body dumping site."

"You're that sure she's dead, huh?"

Stillman shrugged. "People don't just vanish into thin air, Nick. She's either changed identities, left the country, or buried somewhere."

"Here we go, boss." Lilly jumped up gleefully. As usual when working with her her, Vera couldn't quell a spark of affection. Spunky gal, you could only tell from the bags under her eyes what a night she'd had. Hell—they probably all looked the same. "Regan O'Donohue. Last known address in Arlington, Virginia."

_Hmm, traveling time, _Vera savored. He wondered who'd get to go. Most people felt traveling was a pain in the ass, but he had a certain fondness for it. It meant getting away from the oppressive presence of his wife for a while—having more boys' nights out than he was usually allowed. Too bad Jeffries snored. But if he got lucky… Stillman would tell him to go with Lilly. After all, the mother of the twins _should _be questioned by a woman. And since she and Scotty were at odds…

If he was sent along with Lilly, he'd get his own room. Not to mention a partner who wouldn't whine and grumble. Oh, how the future did smile down upon him.

"Vera, you and Jeffries go," came Stillman's short, unanticipated order.

Vera was so startled he lost balance and nearly crashed on his backside. "What? How come, boss?"

"Can't afford to have Lilly and Scotty go with a whole bunch of bodyguards trailing after them," starkly explained Stillman. "They better stay here where they'll be watched. We're not making any mistakes with the perp who made that phone call. You and Jeffries pack up. You're leaving first thing tomorrow."

As Jeffries aimed a great white grin at him, Vera groaned inwardly. He liked Jeffries as much as the next guy, but—how the man _did _snore!

* * *

Lilly hesitated before crossing the threshold of her own home. The thought of someone already inside—someone she didn't know—was so discouraging she almost wished she could have stayed at headquarters. Even if sleepiness bore down on her, even if her legs threatened to give way where she stood. _Why _had they thought of targeting her, of all people?

_Come on, Rush, _she shook herself mentally. _Get over it. Courage!_

Pushing the door open, she was taken aback by the oddest noise. It sounded for all the world like an exceedingly muffled, splashy crash. A _very _young, skinny man in dark blue uniform stood wide-eyed in the middle of her living room, a coffee cup splattered at his feet. "Good afternoon, Detective Rush," he stammered.

_Great, _Lilly's mind screeched, willing her to turn around and run while there was still chance. _I've got a bodyguard and he's all of seventeen! Watching cartoons and helping himself to my coffee, too!_

"Hello," she stiffly replied.

"I'm Williams," the little guy offered. "I've been assigned to watch your house till morning."

_No kiddin'. When exactly did you graduate the Academy? _Lilly felt like demanding, giving him the hairy eyeball. _You bring your blankie with you, kid? _But she held her peace. After all—hadn't she been asked the same many, many times as a rookie? And it had never failed to annoy her.

She'd always thought she was every bit as competent as the next cop. Even if she was "only a girl", and not big and burly and hairy like the rest of her class. Maybe this kid, with his buck teeth and freckles, felt the same. Maybe, under all that ill-fitting uniform, he was as tough and wiry as Superman.

Anyway, she was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.

For now.

"I'm really sorry about the, er, coffee, Detective," Williams was faltering. "I'll just—"

"Don't worry about it," Lilly cut him short, forcing a smile. "Happens all the time. I'm going upstairs. Where are the cats?"

The idea of having a stranger in her house, even a cop, and one looking as mousy and helpless as this one, was more unsettling than she'd care to admit. The fact he could just walk into her room any time during the night and stare at her while she slept gave her the creeps.

She hadn't locked her room the night before, when Stillman ordered that she do so.

But she sure as hell would tonight.

* * *

Regan O'Donohue was hardly a success story. From what Lil had been able to make out, she was roughly the same age as Sarah Bryant, and according to Shenandoah University records, they'd roomed together between 2000 and 2003. Then, in June 2003, Sarah Bryant had abruptly changed majors and Regan had dropped out. She was listed as having a short-termed job toward the end of 2003 in a department store, and there was a concise mention of having checked herself into a mental facility in January 2004. No details.

"Nervous breakdown?" Vera had suggested.

Jeffries shrugged. "Substance abuse?"

They'd probably have to wait and see.

Lilly had called about ten minutes after they'd landed at Washington National. Still no word on Sarah Bryant's whereabouts. Her family's phone line had been tapped, but they'd received no incoming calls from her.

_This girl is no dummy, _Jeffries realized. _She's running, and she's running fast—without looking back. If we're lucky, maybe she'll run the same way as Regan O'Donohue. And we'll catch two birds with one stone._

"Oh, and forensics report on the forceps came back," Lilly had informed him. "You're not gonna believe this, but they actually pulled Sarah Bryant's prints off it. Just one, and partial. But enough to get a conviction. No blood. Girl probably washed it, wiped it dry and accidentally pressed one of her fingers against it as she put it away."

"Got her," Jeffries thought, not without a trace of sadness. Poor Bryants. They'd be devastated. Sarah seemed like such a good girl. But even the best children could turn out to be demons at heart. Never trust a book by its cover.

"Quit mooning, Will," Vera snapped from where he sat hunched over the wheel of their rental car. "Gotta find this address. Where is it again?"

"1723 North Veitch Street," Jeffries read aloud. "Courthouse district."

The neighborhood was far from seedy, though the building itself had seen better days. It was one of those subsidized apartments right across the street from the local elementary school, with flocks of multiracial kids decorating the stoops, brown paint peeling off the railings, and dark steep stairways.

"Hey, kid," Nick asked of a little girl leaning on the banister, a tiny black-haired pigtailed thing, with chipmunk cheeks and a serious air. "You know someone called Regan O'Donohue?"

The child gazed at them mildly and then nodded, pointing to the third floor.

"Thanks." Jeffries smiled down at her. She didn't look the least bit scared. And there was vaguely familiar about her, something he couldn't quite put his finger on. "You think she's home?"

"She's always home," the child volunteered in an offhanded way. "She's a crazy lady, so she can't keep a job. All she does is stay in her room and cry."

_Hmm, reassuring prospect, _Jeffries thought, shooting Vera a mournful glance.

Their footsteps echoed as they made their way toward the third floor. Regan O'Donohue's door looked like any other—white, barren, no name printed on top. They had to knock three times before getting a response. And when they did, the forbidding slab of wood opened only a couple of inches, just enough for a brown eye and a lock of curly brown hair to peek through.

"Yes?" a fearful voice asked.

"Regan O'Donohue? Philadelphia police, homicide."

He'd hardly finished saying the last word before the eye nearly fell out of its socket, their sole warning that the door was promptly to be slammed in their faces. Only Jeffries had the presence of mind to wedge his foot between it and the doorframe. A painful crunch but someone had to do it.

"Now, wait just a minute," Vera shouted, trying to pry open the door—a futile effort, since chain bolt held it steadfastly in place. "Maybe you didn't hear us? We're the _police_. If you don't talk to us you'll be in obstruction of justice, lady."

"Besides, you're on the third floor," Jeffries reasoned. "Where you gonna run off to? Better talk to us. We're not going anywhere. And I don't wanna have to break down your door."

The chain was suddenly pulled aside and the door flung wide open. Another brown-eyed, brown-haired woman stood in front of them, similar to the one that had left but considerably older. "What do you two want?" she demanded, in anything but a friendly voice. "My niece is disturbed. The last thing she needs is two cops barging in. What could she possibly have done?"

"We'll need to talk to her, ma'am," Jeffries solemnly exposed. "This has to do with a Philadelphia homicide case."

"Philadelphia?" the woman repeated. "We've never even been there. Regan!"—bellowing toward the back—"Come talk to the police. They won't hurt you."

Fifteen minutes later they were listening to Regan through a curtain of tears.

"It wasn't supposed to happen that way," the young woman was wailing, her wet face shrouded by a flowered apron. "I didn't know it would be like that when I went there."

"When you went _where, _Regan?" her aunt insisted helplessly. "You're not making any sense."

"Sarah Bryant's house, Regan?" Vera prompted.

Regan's only response was to howl even harder. Jeffries began to sweat. Like no other time in his life he wished he'd brought Lilly along instead of Vera. She'd probably be able to make some sense out of this broken down girl's hopeless muddle.

"Who's Sarah Bryant?" the aunt questioned, mystified. "We don't know anyone by that name."

"Regan's roommate in college," Jeffries told her. "She was the one who lived in Philadelphia."

"You were pregnant, weren't you, Regan?" Vera was prodding. "Only you never told anyone."

The girl never made an effort to stop crying, not for an instant. Her back rocked with sobs and she was beginning to whimper like a burned-out child.

"What on earth is he talking about, Regan?" a tight-lipped aunt interposed. "When were you pregnant?"

"It was a deformed child," Jeffries replied. "Twins, actually. Siamese twins. Sharing a whole body."

"You knew about this, didn't you, Regan? You knew the minute you went to Sarah's for Thanksgiving. Because that's when you saw Doctor Swanson, isn't it?"

"And he did the ultrasound. That's when you discovered your baby wasn't normal."

"And you planned the whole thing." Vera's tone had dropped a few decibels, gone frosty, and Jeffries knew right away what he was planning. _Bad cop approach_. It was clear 'good cop' wasn't getting anywhere. For a minute he considered shaking his head; bad cop might not work this time. Then again, nothing else seemed to. "Go back for spring break, before your due date, when you knew Sarah's family would be out of town. Get rid of the children, bury them in the yard, and get back to school. No one would ever know, right?"

Never in his life had Jeffries seen anything like the fiery blaze in the aunt's eyes. "How can you say such terrible things?" he thought she would say. But the words that actually flew out of her mouth completely took him by surprise. "You slut! You utter little slut! _How could you let them find out?_"


	14. Chapter 13

My dear readers, I know it has taken me ages to update. I was suddenly hired for twice as many hours as I used to work and my life stopped. I'm just now beginning to get the hang of things again. Hopefully my next update won't take so long. Thanks for the patient wait!

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**Chapter 13**

"So what's the scoop?" Scotty asked, carefully attentive to Lilly's face as she hung up the phone. She sure was expressive—even when she tried her best to be expressionless.

"They're not talking, either of them," Lilly replied, a trace of worn-out bitterness in her tone. "Vera and Jeffries are bringing them in, making them think we have a warrant for Regan's arrest. Truth is, we just have a warrant for her DNA."

"Once they get here we can make'em talk." Scotty's discourse was full of bravado. Way more than he felt.

"They're both basket cases, according to Vera. Girl wouldn't stop crying and the aunt kept insulting her. He and Jeffries had to practically pry her off." Rolling her eyes, she added, sarcastically, "Star witnesses, those two. We may need a hypnotist just to get Regan's dismembered personalities in line."

Scotty knew it was the wrong time but he couldn't help himself. "How about a strait jacket for the aunt?"

Lilly donned a withering attitude. "I'm _serious._ And look into their phone records, will you, Valens? See if we can hunt down Sarah Bryant through them."

"Sure thing, _boss_," Scotty retorted, not really meaning for it to come out as snooty as it did. It was Stillman's warning glare that tipped him off.

"Sounds good to me," the real boss said in a pacifying way to Lilly, as Scotty sheepishly backed off. "I'm going down to the DA's office. You two get something done, will you? And no squabbling."

No sooner had he gone than Lilly engrossed herself in Erica Bailey's file, her head bent at such an angle Scotty wondered how her neck made it through the day. Strange thoughts had been hovering in his mind since that night, the fateful night of the phone invasion. To him, it had been a sort of wake-up call, making him acutely aware of Lilly's fragility—something he'd never really given thought to before. Not since the very beginning—before he'd had a chance to see her in action. She was always so tough and brave, never needing anything from anybody, he'd forgotten how physically vulnerable she really was. Now, appraising her, he was disturbingly conscious of her narrow shoulders and meager build. One well-aimed punch could send her sailing to the ground, one yank would easily bend her wrists back till they snapped. Her fists were about half the size of his, for God's sake. How was she supposed to defend herself? Hardly a tranquilizing thought, considering the situation they were in.

He lingered in her vicinity, feeling the urge to introduce the bristly subject of their truce and not knowing how in hell's name to go about it. She might be a secretive gal, but he was a stand-up guy, and when words needed to be said, he said them. Their ceasefire had been working decently since yesterday, but today things had been teetering a little, and they should get some things straight now _before _everything got skewed again.

Uncannily he glanced up to find two piercing blue eyes trained defensively on his own.

"Yeah. What?" was the encouraging observation.

For a moment his resolve wavered. _Don't chicken out, Valens. _"I was just thinking—" He slammed his knee against the edge of her desk and pain exploded in his leg, clouding his mind for an instant. _Fuck damn! _When he looked up again, there was the tiniest hint of smile on Lilly's face—one that just as quickly faded away. She wasn't going to make this easy for him. "We're gonna have to find some way to make this work, Lil."

There was a short pause, during which Lilly's face was really inscrutable. She jerked up off her chair, and for a moment Scotty almost recoiled—was she about to resort to physical violence?

"I know," she owned, in an unexpectedly calm tone of voice. "I think we can manage it."

Scotty stared at her. Somehow he'd been expecting more of a fight. Damn the girl was unpredictable! The words 'I'm sorry' ached to roll off his tongue once again, but his mind readily shut them off. Why should _he _apologize? _Leave well enough alone, Valens. _"Well… okay then," he reposted awkwardly.

"Okay," repeated Lilly, just as awkwardly. Scotty had already turned away toward his computer when she added, stiffly, "By the way… thanks for that. You know—calling Stillman and all."

Scotty was stunned. Considering his alarm had resulted in someone being posted at Lilly's house—an unforgivable intrusion of her beloved privacy—gratitude was the last thing he'd been expecting. "Sure, no problem," he mumbled in awe.

It was a bittersweet triumph.

* * *

Lilly felt she had been poring over those old files for ages. Her eyes stung from scanning paper after paper, report after report. Aaron Bailey sure had put a lot into his wife's search until that letter turned up. Didn't make sense for him to have done away with her himself. Why be so cooperative and risk getting found out?

_Unless he was absolutely certain he never would be. _

On the other hand, aside from his druggie son's disjointed account of the blood incident, nothing else pointed to him. Except, of course, for the fact he was next of kin. And he had motive.

Speaking of next of kin… where was the rest of her family?

She managed to track down mother and father, both deceased. There was a sister in the background living in California. A quick conversation with Aaron Bailey informed her those two hadn't spoken since their marriage.

"She thought I was a worthless piece of crap," he bluntly offered. "I didn't really care to have them associate afterwards. Now I wonder why I bothered."

_Hmm, siblings not speaking sounds familiar._

And now what was up with Scotty's sudden uncalled-for chattiness? He kept interrupting her. And shooting her these earth-shattering glances… had he gotten it into his male egotistical head she was head-over-heels for him _again_? But she had to admit a part of her was glad they'd made their peace at last and sealed it with words. It had been uncomfortable not knowing where their situation stood. And as for digging through her past—well, sure it had hurt. But it was time to get over it already. After all, he'd done plenty afterwards to make up for this one mistake. She guessed she'd learn to live with him dating Christina…

Just the recollection of her dear innocent derailed sister, all warm fluff and curls, made her heart lurch uncomfortably. _No, don't wanna go there_. Chris meant Patrick, family, her past—all things she really didn't want to remember. Things she had tried to stay away from, all these years. Keeping a tight lid on them, doing her best to put them behind her, reconstruct her life. And now, just by showing up, that sweet little trainwreck of a sister had upset everything.

As she always did.

It wasn't really Valens's fault. He'd find out himself soon enough just how unreliable she could be. Lilly couldn't prevent a grim sort of pleasure thinking of what he'd brought upon himself—but then, remembering Elisa's fate, she felt rotten. She had no business being happy over the heartbreak he'd be sure to suffer at Chris's side.

That stupid girl. Why couldn't she just get herself out of here and leave things as they were? Always getting her grubby little hands on her stuff. Her people. No respect for privacy or property whatsoever.

All these gloomy thoughts crowded her head till she couldn't stand it anymore. One more minute at that desk and she'd be sure to burst.

Scotty jumped at the sound of her chair being thrusted violently back, a question in his eye.

"Going out," Lilly announced flatly. "Lunch."

"Sure thing," came the bland answer. "Knock yourself out."

The case was still fresh in her mind as she made her turbulent way down the hall and out of police headquarters. It was all such a mess of tangled-up hypotheses and clues. While it seemed clear as day Sarah Bryant had been the one to deliver Regan O'Donohue's twins with Swanson's forceps, the evidence was all circumstantial—all but that fingerprint. Now if they got Regan to confess it would be another story. But who knew if they'd be able to get anything from that girl—if she was as disturbed as Vera said she was?

And then there was Erica Bailey's plight. No clues on that end. And the prick who was threatening her—_who was he_? She had a sort of inkling it must be a woman, in spite of what the boys assured her. A woman leading them astray, and doing a clever job of it, too. Phone threats simply weren't consistent with a male MO. Men were more into actions, he would've carried on his threat by now. Women were the masterminds with the ideas.

_Maybe it's Erica Bailey. Maybe she's alive and doesn't want to be found out. In that case, she must be closer than we think._

Well, it wouldn't be the first time the doer was under their very noses. Take George, for instance…

The mere thought of him made Lilly's flesh crawl. She had known, by the way he'd barefacedly aired the boys' dirty laundry during initial interrogations, he was the very worst type of psychopath. The sadistic kind, who preyed on people's pain and suffering, who'd pull the dirtiest thing he had on her, given the chance. But for some reason she naïvely never expected him to turn to her 49.

"Maybe we'll go hunting together someday, you and me," he'd said.

_Like hell we will, _Lilly vowed, shuddering. _I'll shoot you before I let you get anywhere near me, you perverted son of a bitch. For the victims if not for anyone else._

The sun was mild enough for her to remove her scarf. There he was—her favorite hot dog vendor. Talk about a welcome sight for sore eyes. She was really craving a good juicy warm Philadelphia hotdog; nothing like junk food to put a girl to rights.

"Howya doin' today, Miss Lilly?" the vendor hailed her, with an engaging gap-toothed smile. "The usual?"

"Yup."

"Hard day?" he asked, lifting an eyebrow as he rustled up the sandwich.

"Hard case," she replied, shaking her head. "Too many angles. Too many victims. Too many credible suspects. Not enough proof."

The vendor lathered the bun lavishly with mustard and sprinkled it with ketchup. "Here you go, Miss Lilly."

Lilly's hands welcomed the tasty warmth. She'd just begun to open her mouth, anticipating the first savory bite, when her glance fell on a face across the street. It was a remarkably familiar face—peaches and cream complexion, blonde hair, wide eyes, and, at this particular moment, gaping wide mouth.

_Sarah Bryant._

"Hey! Wait a minute!" she shrilled, breaking into a sprint across the busy street. She was instantly met by a dozen furiously honking cars and squealing brakes, just barely making it to the opposite sidewalk. But not before Sarah had pulled her disappearing act again. The girl was nowhere to be found.

_Well, for fuck's sake. So she's still in town, _Lilly ruminated darkly. _I wonder why?_

Still unable to catch her breath after her mad race across the street, she had just begun to turn back toward her hotdog when she was startled by a hand roughly grabbing her shoulder.

"I bin looking for you," a threatening voice growled in her ear.


	15. Chapter 14

Sorry about the long hiatus. Not proud of it.:( Life and writer's block and other crappy situations got in the way.

**Warning! **Somewhat disturbing imagery ahead.

* * *

**Chapter 14**

Lilly jerked out of the unknown grasp and whirled around, her heart thumping in her ears, ready to fight tooth and nail if she had to. There was just no way in hell she was letting a petty prank call become tomorrow's headline.

But it was only Jason Bailey. His long, skinny frame, unkempt as ever, shook in the paltry amount of clothing he wore and his face bobbed insecurely overhead.

"What do you want?" snapped Lilly short-temperedly, taking a cautious step back. Not that she was afraid, but why take chances? Past experience had taught her this kid had no problem lashing out whenever he felt like it. He'd already knocked her flat once and she wasn't exactly dying for it to happen again.

Intimidating was the last thing he looked this time, however. His gait was faintly unstable and his eyes were red-rimmed, as if near tears. A halo of assorted smells surrounded him, making it impossible to identify what substance he was on. Probably a mishmash of several. "There's sumpin I didn't tell you before," he slurred. "'Bout my mom."

"And why tell me now?" Lilly demanded suspiciously, vaguely aware of the hot dog vendor keeping a sharp eye on them from across the street.

"Anything wrong, Miss Lilly?" he called out.

"No, Mickey. Don't worry about it. I got it," she waved back. "Okay, so tell me if you're going to."

The kid sighed morosely, glaring down at his dilapidated sneakers. "I know the guy she was seeing."

"You do?" Lilly's voice was tinged with disbelief. "Well, who?"

"I dunno _who_. But I know where he worked. Down the street at Kemp's garage. My mom was always going there—the filthy slut. She took my sister in a stroller. I'm pretty sure that's where she went that day she never came back."

This took a while to make its way into the depths of Lilly's mind. Accountable? Not by a long shot. Even so, it was still better than anything they'd got so far—an angle worth looking into. Gazing up into his narcotized, beat-up, half-starved face, she was suddenly overcome by a sharp, agonizing sort of pity—painful shame that a perfectly good kid's life could have come to this.

"Sit down," she sighed, mentally shutting away the image of her wristwatch pointing to two past the hour. "I gotta tell you something. About your dad. And that knife you saw."

* * *

"I have nothing to say," Alice O'Donohue declared defiantly. "I know my rights and I don't have to talk to you. _I'm_ not a suspect." 

"Well, your niece is," Jeffries sensibly pointed out. "Maybe you should talk and spare her the pain of going through all this."

"The pain of going through what?"

"Don't pretend you don't know." Vera was losing his patience. "You told your niece she was a slut. So you must know _something_. Why don't you just spill it? You could get yourself off the hook easy."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Alice persisted stubbornly, her frizzled hair obscuring her face. "I'd never say anything like that."

Jeffries and Vera exchanged an exasperated look. What was the point of all this denial? They'd both heard her. She wasn't about to convince them they were _both _loopy. How long was she planning to keep up this charade?

Stillman tapped on the two-way, his way of telling them to can it. "That's enough. Let's wait for Lil. She'll be back any minute."

But half an hour later Vera was still pacing around like a caged animal, staring at the suspects through the two-way mirrors and trying not to snap at everything that moved. Where the hell was she? On Stillman's orders he had the interrogations on hold. The aunt was surly as ever, bony arms crossed over chest, refusing to cooperate and threatening a lawsuit. The girl just sniveled and moaned and made no sense. Jeffries had tried and Valens had tried—and they'd both upset her so much Stillman had ordered no one else but Lilly come near her. So where _was_ she?

"Lunch," Valens had helpfully supplied.

It didn't take Rush an hour to eat lunch. She munched down on those hot dogs like there was no tomorrow. Something else was wrong. And damned if he was gonna wait around for the bad news…

His body practically deflated with relief when he saw her come sailing down the hall, safe and sound, a haughty smile on her face.

"Where the hell were you?" he fumed. No point letting her see how worried he'd been. She'd be better off thinking they were just annoyed. "We've got this O'Donohue flake waiting here for you. She's good for nothin'. Stillman won't let us question her."

"I was talking to a witness," Lilly answered breezily. "We may just have another lead on our hands. Jason Bailey remembers where his mom's lover worked."

"What!" Vera exploded. "That little thug? He actually had useful information he kept from us? Why I oughta—"

"Get me a cup off coffee," Lilly finished for him. "I gave the kid my hot dog and I'm hungry. Can't talk to this girl on an empty stomach."

* * *

It was chilly in the observation room as Stillman monitored Lilly's interrogation, not without certain fatherly satisfaction. He couldn't help feeling akin to this woman, though they were far from blood relatives and he couldn't even pride himself on having trained her from a rookie. She'd fallen well-recommended into his hands some years before, and he had never regretted it since. Younger than everyone on the squad but Scotty, the only female, she had a way about her that not only earned respect, it also elicited trust and confidence. Victims and perpetrators alike ended up cracking at her perseverance. When all else failed, Stillman knew he could always count on Lilly. 

Somehow her technique didn't seem to be having the desired effect this time, though. With infinite patience she had gone time after time through the usual round of questions with Regan. But the girl was just too much of a wreck. The faintest allusion to the babies would send her into gales of tears—no emotional stability whatsoever. Not even enough to make up a decent lie.

If Lilly was getting frustrated—as anyone probably would have by now—she didn't show it. If anything, her voice seemed to grow softer and more disarming than ever. So low, in fact, he completely missed her next words. And right away he regretted it, because they seemed to draw a reaction from Regan at last.

A startled look came over her swollen features as she gulped in mid-sob, "You did?"

"That's right," Lilly returned conspiratorially, leaning forward in her chair and twirling her hair in mock disinterest. "Just a few minutes ago. So you don't have to worry. We'll make sure she gets what she deserves."

Regan's expression could only be described as panicky. "Why?"

Lilly shrugged. "We know what she did. She killed your babies. So she deserves punishment. The death penalty."

"The _death _penalty?"

"Or life imprisonment," continued Lilly unsympathetically. "You take your pick. She's our main suspect, and you know how it goes—someone has to be the scapegoat."

Stillman gritted his teeth. _Easy on the dangerous comments, Lil. Don't forget we've got a walking lawsuit in the next room._

For a minute Regan's face crumpled and Stillman held his breath, readying himself for yet another outburst.

"It's not like you think," she said instead, her tone so unexpectedly grave and quiet it had the staggering effect of a bombshell in the interrogation room. Stillman suddenly found not only himself but also Vera, Jeffries and Scotty with their noses pressed breathlessly to the glass.

"Tell me," Lilly urged. "Tell me how it was. Help me understand."

And so the story began at last, and such a bizarre story that it was, Regan's somber words forming a hazy sort of picture in Stillman's mind, almost like an old home movie playing itself, strangely tragic and poignant.

Regan's family was Roman Catholic, the very strictest kind. She'd been brought up in a religious all-girls' private school, educated to have a career, marry and have a family—all this in the most rigorous virtue, of course. But somewhere along the line things had become skewed. 'Irresistible' had come, and for a while there was a boyfriend—and then 'irresistible' had gone, leaving something behind. A present—a legacy. A baby. And now no one could know.

Not even Sarah had known at first. Regan kept it a secret from everyone, half-hoping the problem would go away by itself if she ignored it long enough. But she had been found out—by Alice O'Donohue, her father's youngest sister and the family spinster. And it was she who had come up with The Plan—the one that would lead to all ensuing complications.

Options were discussed. Abortion was contrary to their beliefs, and since her parents would kick her out and disown her if they ever found out, keeping the baby was out of the question. Adoption was her best choice—her only choice, really. And Alice had the perfect solution for it.

"She was lonely, she wanted a baby," Regan apathetically explained. "That was our deal. She'd give me the money and cover for me, make me disappear to have it, and then she'd pretend someone had just left a baby on her doorstep. So she could adopt it. No questions asked. They'd even think she was being noble."

It was then Regan confided in Sarah for the first time. Sarah was taken aback by the situation, but respected Regan's wishes that nothing be known. So, on Alice's instructions, they drove all those miles up to Philadelphia for Thanksgiving 2002, just so Regan could have her first check-up in full anonymity.

That was when disaster struck.

"I thought for sure God was punishing me for my sins," Regan whispered. "Making my child deformed—a monster. Two heads, the doctor said. One body."

Stillman could picture her lying down in that examination room, having the ultrasound performed on her, staring blankly at the screen as she received the awful news. For a moment his mind flashed to his own daughter—and the flawless grandson she had produced for him. His chest tightened in spite of himself.

"So what happened then?" prompted Lilly, gently.

"I had to tell Aunt Alice. And she didn't like it."

"What did she do?"

Regan gave a great shuddering sigh. "She was weird—pretended not to hear me at first, then gave me some money and told me to get out of the house, that she never wanted to hear from me again until I'd got rid of the horrible thing. So I left."

The rest of the story was even stranger. She and Sarah had made arrangements of their own. Sarah's parents were to be out of town for spring break—roughly Regan's due date. The house would be alone and they could go to the same doctor who'd performed to ultrasound for the delivery. Or Sarah would try to deliver them herself.

Stillman couldn't help thinking of his own daughter again as Regan described those long, lonely months of hiding her belly, going to class feeling nauseous and short of breath, worrying about what would happen to her kids once they were born, lying to her parents every time they phoned or wrote. Finally spring break came—and with it no labor pains. Days passed and Sarah was frantic—her parents would come home any day now and their cover would be blown. So she gave Regan some pills. Just to hurry things up, she'd said.

What happened afterwards was less clear. All Regan could recall was waking up later that afternoon in excruciating cramps and swimming in blood and amniotic fluid. She'd called out for Sarah, who said it was time—but when she'd listened for the babies' heartbeat her face had gone all gray and still.

"There's no heartbeat," she'd said. "I can't find the heartbeat anywhere. Regan—the babies are dead."

"No! No! No! They _can't _be."

But they were. They weren't moving and there was no heartbeat, the pain was unbearable and Regan was bleeding out. Sarah did everything in her power to make her comfortable, but she finally had to face the fact there was only so much she could do. She _had _to go to the hospital.

"What?" Regan had yelped. "No—no hospitals. You promised. No hospitals."

Hospitals meant doctors and nurses and midwives, signing forms and disclosing her name. Giving birth to conjoined twins would be sure to make the papers. Huge headlines all over the country—just big enough for her parents to feast their eyes on.

"Please," Sarah had begged, practically in tears. "You have to go. You're gonna die if you don't."

But it was no use. They waited another hour for things to move along, but they didn't, no matter how hard Regan pushed. She was beginning to feel faint—her pulse was quick and her blood pressure, low. Sarah was a midwife—she _had _to help her. The pain was terrible, everything was terrible. It had to end sometime, this sort of agony couldn't go on forever. And she'd rather die than go to the hospital. That was when Sarah had gone for help and come back with an instrument instead—such a grotesque instrument, more like a pair of huge tongs than anything else. She was crying—she didn't want to do it. But Regan was screeching and desperate, and the blood was everywhere. There'd be three people dead in that room if someone didn't do something.

"Just get them out, Sarah. Please—just get them out."

The flashback faded slowly, and Stillman was almost surprised to find himself still in the observation room, staring through the mirror at the stony-faced girl, dully delivering the last lines of her horror story.

"All I remember is a crunching, grinding sound. And Sarah bawling. She didn't want to do it. But I begged her. I told her to press harder, to break them if she had to. I couldn't go to the hospital. I couldn't let them find out. So she did. She got them out. It wasn't her fault."

Lilly was silent for a few seconds. Her face didn't register any expression, but Stillman knew she was probably as shaken as they were. When she finally did speak up, her voice was surprisingly soothing.

"Just one more thing I gotta ask of you, Regan. Where did you get Erica Bailey's ID?"

"Who?"

"Erica Bailey. The woman whose name you used for your ultrasound in November. Did you know her?"

Regan shook her head vacantly. "Aunt Alice gave me a driver's permit to use. Said it was her friend's. I never looked at it." Her eyes had changed somehow—the hysterical light had gone out of them and they were lifeless, empty. "It's me you should give the death penalty to, you know—not Sarah. Sarah saved me. But she shouldn't have. I should be lying in that hole in the ground with my babies. I wish I were."


	16. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

_Crazy bitch._

_What the hell is she doing here? This is _my _place—_my _work. She's got no right being here!_

_Good thing I just happened to be standing behind the shelves, in the shadow—otherwise she would have found me out for sure. And she's got that useless latin boy toy with her—a sorry ass, in my opinion. Couldn't even get her off the case when I told him to. Worthless. Maybe I should put him out of his misery too._

_It was about 10:30 when I heard the unfamiliar footsteps. Slow, guarded, searching—not the typical clumping of mechanic's boots._

"Anything I can do for you, folks?" _good ol' Freddy Kemp, my boss, goes._

"Yeah."

_**That voice. **It's that voice that makes me jump out of my skin, jars me out of my hub-cap wiping duties. It's _her_. I can still see the light glinting off her yellow hair, too close—much too close, snooty nose in the air. _

"Detectives Valens and Rush, homicide."

_Yeah, like I didn't know that already. My legs feel like jelly—they're actually shaking. It's like my worst nightmare come true. All these weeks, the bitch has been getting closer and closer. And now she's finally here. _On _to me._

"Oh?" _Kemp, my boss asks, sounding anything but interested. Good ol' Kemp. Not a hair out of place. If only there were a way out, he might be able to keep them distracted long enough for me to flee._

"We're looking into the disappearance of an Erica Bailey," _the blonde cunt interposes, stepping up right between me and the back way out. So much for that idea._ "You familiar with the name?"

"No."

"You sure?" _her prick partner pipes up, putting on his he-man act_. "Take a good look at this picture. Lady look familiar to you? Huh?"

_Kemp stares at the picture and as recognition dawns I feel my stomach getting queasy. Of course he'd recognized her—the whore had come in here so many times. Idiot bitch! I told her to stay away. But, like all horny tramps carrying on, she just wouldn't._

"Yeah… maybe. From a long time ago."

"Disappeared in 1995," _Miss Blondie goes on, relishing it. And people think _I _have power issues._ "She was last seen headed in this direction. Rumor has it she was seeing one of your guys. Any idea who it might have been?"

_My breath gets so shallow my ribs begin to hurt and my hands go cold and clammy._

"Hey, my boys are a lively bunch. How am I supposed to remember who was with who back then?" _Kemp sneers, much to my relief._ "Listen, lady—you got it all wrong if you think one of mine had anything to do with this. They're good guys. Rough, but law-abiding, okay? Anyway there's hardly any of them around from that time. And we got some girls too."

"You got a list?" _The guy presses on._

_Looks to me like Kemp is growling but he still goes off into the office, taking Latino prep with him. Just when I think I might be able to make a clean break for it, I realize White Trash is still around—prowling, the way pig bitches do. Walking around the rubble, running her hand over things. Meddling bitch! Why's she gotta be here?_

_I hold my breath as she wanders over to my area, gazing over the shelves. Good thing it's too dark and dusty and cluttered for her to see me. _I _can see _her _though. Her scrawny neck sticking out of her coat, pale as milk, holding her washed-out head up like a banner. My hands tense, itching with the urge to wrap themselves around it—that pale skinny snippy-looking thing—wondering what she'd do if she were forced to the ground, kicking and screaming, as my hands choke the life out of her. The thought is so unexpectedly pleasurable I feel goosebumps rise all over my body._

_Here comes her muscle. I dunno what he's got in his hands, but he and his broad get into their dingy government car and drive away._

_Yeah, you keep coming back, bitch. Doesn't matter you got a 24-hour bodyguard service in your house now, that poor weepy kid. Someday you won't have Macho Man around to protect you. And then you're gonna get what you deserve._


	17. Chapter 16

Sorry for the delay. Can't make any promises about the next chapter—I don't have the nerve. Let's just say it'll come when it comes. Wish I could be faster, but life gets in the way so bad. We're approaching the end, dear readers!

**Disclaimer: **obviously not mine, or Lilly's hair would still be up. And we'd have gotten more George aftermath.

EDIT: This is taking forever. I don't know what's up with but it's NOT working well. Hope this works.

* * *

**Chapter 16**

It didn't matter how many times they questioned Alice O'Donohue. She was staunchly bent on denying the whole thing. After a couple of hours no one was really sure whether she was conversive or just plain stubborn. They even called Frannie in for assessment, but after a few minutes she quickly informed them she was into forensics, not head shrinking.

"You got me beat with that one," were her exact words.

Lilly was at loss as to what ploy to use on her. She'd pretty much exhausted all her arsenal. Reasoning was no good, threatening and "bad cop" were fruitless, pretend understanding worked no better…

She really felt for the girl. Regan was disturbed, but at least she had a right to be so. Her babies had died in a horrible way. Sure enough maybe she was partly to blame—but hopelessness and ignorance accounted for most of it. And her sweet aunt, Alice O'Donohue—her own flesh and blood—had made a generous contribution by abandoning her the way she had. None of these was likely to make Lilly too sympathetic toward her.

"Alice," she began for the umpteenth time, leaning over the table, pale eyebrows drawn menacingly. "We _know_ you gave Regan Erica Bailey's driver's license. What we wanna know is _why. Why_ did you have it? Where did you meet her? Where is she now?"

Alice's lips remained obstinately set. "I don't know what you're talking about. I don't know anyone by that name."

"Alice, Regan _told _us you gave her the ID."

Alice snorted. "Regan! You can't believe anything that girl says. Next thing you know she'll be telling you she was pregnant when she's a virgin. Ask anyone. They'll tell you. She's delusional."

_Or you are, _Lilly huffed to herself, barely resisting the urge to slam the door on her way out—preferably in the witness's face.

"Detective Rush?" came the irrepressible voice from inside, cynically good-natured and innocent. "Could you please stop wasting my time once and for all? I really have to be at work tomorrow."

"Lil, we can't keep her here," Stillman alerted her. "We have no grounds. The DA won't let us. Just release her."

Lilly could hardly keep herself from stamping her feet in frustration. Alice was such an obvious link and now they'd be forced to let her go. Could the damn justice department be any less understanding? Next thing she knew she'd be back in bed with Kite if only for the sake of getting warrants on time. "Fine," she snapped at Alice. "You wanna go? Go. Get outta here."

Smugly, Alice O'Donohue set her long skirts in place and got up, gliding down the hall in a manner worthy of a homecoming queen. To Lilly's disbelief, she had the nerve of singing out, "Regan, honey, let's go home!"

"Oh, no, you don't," Vera said, cutting in before Lilly exploded and tore the woman to shreds. "_You _can go. But Regan's staying with us. She's not a minor and you have no hold over her."

Lilly had never felt more grateful of Vera than at that moment. Not only did he keep his owntemper, but he'd caught the danger signs and forced her to keep hers as well. And his words brought the most gratifying flash of anger and helplessness to Alice's eyes.

_Smells like an all-nighter_, an inner voice warned her. And what the hell. There was no point going home anyway, not with Willie the baby bodyguard hanging around. She'd just give him a call and tell him to look after her cats. They'd be all right this one time.

_What is the link, _she wondered, sinking into her chair and pressing her fists to her temples. _There's gotta be a link somewhere. Why should Erica Bailey's ID turn up in Regan's hand? Why should Alice O'Donohue give it to her? What's the connection? C'mon, Rush—you can do this. Concentrate!_

With the tenacity of one who has spent all too many sleepless nights, she unflinchingly dug into Alice O'Donohue and Erica Bailey's past history for common ground.

* * *

Morning found Jeffries gawking at a once-in-a-lifetime spectacle: the stately, energetic Lilly Rush sprawled face down across her desk, one hand draped loosely around her pet blue coffee mug, the other sandwiched between a mass of old files. Her hair had come down off its clip, obscuring her face. At least one third of it was _inside _the coffee mug.

_Damn, _Jeffries thought, trying to keep a straight face. _Better rouse her before she becomes the laughing stock of the place—whoops, too late. _Scotty and Vera had just trudged in together, stopped short at the sight, and snickered.

"Rough night, Rush?" taunted Vera, shaking her shoulder.

"Hmmm? Oh… yeah. Damn, I must've fallen asleep," Lilly murmured, straightening up. A pencil was stuck to her face. Jeffries couldn't suppress a grin, though he felt more compassion than anything else. Vera and Valens—they'd never let her live this down.

"Come on, Lil," Scotty told her at long last, once he was done guffawing. "We gotta get over to Kemp's garage. Pull yourself together, will ya?"

Lilly shot them a dirty look as she sped away, probably to the ladies' room. When she re-emerged she was almost good as new. Jeffries sometimes wondered how she did it. Sure he wasn't as young as he used to be—certainly not as young as _she _was—but had he _ever _had the stamina to pull so many all-nighters in a row? Sometimes it seemed Lilly Rush lived, breathed and dreamed cold cases. Yeah, he wasn't kidding himself—it was all in a day's work when you were in Homicide. But how long would she be able to endure it? There wasn't much else in Jeffries' life _now_, but in his youth there had always been Mary—his family. Lilly had nothing but her handicapped cats; kid sister had long since deserted her for Scotty, and mommy dearest, wherever she was, seemed to be only concerned with drinking herself into an early grave. She didn't even have any hobbies, or—

_Come on, Will, _he shook himself. _She's a big girl. She knows what she's doing—she can handle it. Get off her case already._

Best way to help would be contributing to the investigation. It wasn't like there was much else to do anyway. No new cases had come up, Regan had been turned over to the DA's office, the twins would receive a proper burial at last…

Only Erica Bailey left.

By the time Lilly and Scotty returned, he'd arrived to the same conclusion Lilly must've undoubtedly reached overnight—there was _nothing _in Erica Bailey's past to justify Alice O'Donohue's having her driver's permit. There were no records of Erica ever having been in Virginia—no records of Alice having visited Philadelphia. No common friends. No common schools. Nothing.

_Shit, _he grumbled inwardly. And his optimism only increased when he caught sight of Lilly and Scotty's newest addition. "List?" he enquired somberly.

"Yup."

"Anything?"

"Kemp recognized her. Nothing else."

_Wonderful. _Well… at least there was a faint hope of Jason Bailey's story turning out more than mere bull. He turned to make an acid comment just in time to see Lilly stumble over her chair. "Okay, that's it," he said firmly. "Go take a nap, Lil."

"Nah, Will, that's okay—" she began.

"You heard Will," Stillman broke in, his tone dead final. "Go take a nap. You're no good to any of us like this. Scotty, Vera and Jeffries will be glad to look over those papers for you."

"Speak for yourself," Vera muttered darkly. But he meekly grabbed part of the records before going back to his desk.

"That girl gives the word 'workaholic' a whole new meaning," Scotty remarked, gazing after her in awe.

Jeffries blinked. "Seems like you two are back on good terms," he mused. _And Scotty seems awfully happy too. So Christina couldn't have left him…Could Lil have had a change of heart?_

"Yeah, sorta."

"Well, don't push your luck," Jeffries flatly reminded him. "Wipe that smirk off your face or you're gonna find yourself back on her bad side real fast."

Browsing through Kemp's chaotic records was probably one of the most frustrating, sleep-inducing tasks he had ever come across. It was like looking for a damn needle in a haystack. After all, jotting down important personnel facts like "currently dating married woman" wasn't exactly routine. They didn't even have a proper physical description to go on. What was that the kid had said? "_Too tall and too much hair_," according to Vera. That could be anyone. Best they could do was try to match up ages—any male 25-50 years of age could be the culprit. That narrowed it down to… 16. Now they had only to visit them and cast off the runts and the bald ones—

Jeffries was just about to toss the whole thing as useless when something jumped out at him.

"Hey, Scotty, Nick—take a look at this."

Scotty, eyes red-rimmed and stifling a yawn, Vera stifling a curse, roamed lifelessly over. "What?"

"Kemp had these guys write their names by hand. This handwriting look familiar to you?"

* * *

"What's all the commotion?" Lilly asked, drifting back into the main room only slightly refreshed. She'd crashed for nearly 3 hours but it felt like 3 minutes. When she'd left them, all had been quiet. What was everyone so hyper about now?

"Lil, come here," Stillman called her. "We've had the handwriting experts over. You saw Erica Bailey's letter to her husband—what do you make of this?"

Trying desperately to blink her leaden inertia away, Lilly studied the two papers in front of her. One was the list of 1995 employees they'd recovered from Kemp's garage earlier that day. The other was Erica Bailey's letter, the one that had been half-forged. Automatically her brain began searching for patterns in the counterfeit handwriting. No doubt about it—the similarities were there.

"Oh my God," she articulated. "It's the same person."

Stillman nodded excitedly. "The experts agree. Vera and Scotty are on their way to pick up this guy right now."

_Wow, _Lilly thought half-dazedly. _Things are sure moving fast._

Morgan Newton.

That sure didn't ring a bell.


	18. Chapter 17

_**This chapter is dedicated to Ruth.**_

**NOTE: **Any opinions depicted in this chapter are for fictional purposes only and do not in any way reflect my views on the subject.

* * *

**Chapter 17**

Willie the baby bodyguard was looking apprehensive by the time she got home. Lilly surveyed him from the door and sighed wearily. _I wonder what's happened now. Maybe he stepped on a roach?_

Her mind flew back to the afternoon and its happenings. What a long day it had been, in spite of the monstrous unheard-of 3-hour nap. Poor Vera and Scotty had gone on one hell of a wild-goose chase trying to locate this Morgan Newton guy. As appeared to be suspect-fashion nowadays, he was nowhere to be found. He'd been to work as usual, but after releasing him at half past four, Kemp had no idea where he'd disappeared to. His beat-up trailer sat shabbily at the address indicated—empty. Second job? No one knew. Girlfriend? No idea. His neighbors kept to themselves and none of them had a clue as to where to find him.

Lilly—along with everyone else—was pretty sure he'd bolted. Hell—even _she'd _do it if she were a kidnapper or murderer in the same situation. Nothing easier than putting two and two together during their sojourn at Kemp's this morning, if he'd been within eavesdropping distance. Weird thing was, he didn't seem the runaway type. Making the phone call, forging the letter was all confrontational behavior. If he was prepared to fight and scare them off before, why not now? Why up and leave all of a sudden?

_Maybe he just got so spooked at the bloodcurdling sight of my hangover face, he's decided he's not up to scaring anyone anymore, _she reflected wryly.

Something didn't add up. She only wished she were smart enough and awake enough to figure out what it was.

"Er… Detective Rush?" stammered Willie the Baby Bodyguard, his knees practically knocking against each other as he approached her.

_Grow up, kid, _she felt like hissing. _I really don't have time for this._ But of course she didn't. That'd be unfair; the kid was doing the best he could. Besides, he _had _taken care of her cats the night before, and that ought to count for something. "Yes?" she patiently replied, forcing a smile.

"I found this. On the front stoop. It's got your name on it."

A sinister shiver made its cold, prickly way down Lilly's spine as her hands reached for the innocent little slip with the words **_LILLY RUSH_** scribbled across it. It looked for all the world like a regular piece of paper—could've been ripped out of any notepad in the country. No smudges or identifying marks that she could see, but—

"Damn!" she exclaimed, letting it flutter to the floor. "You touch this with your bare hands, Williams?"

Willie's blue eyes went round. "Yes, ma'am."

"Oh well. Nothing we can do about it now. Gimme that napkin over there. Prints." _I should have thought of that before, _she berated herself. _Talk about destroying evidence._

With the utmost care she unfolded the note, steeling herself for the insulting words or threats that might lie beyond. Much to her surprise, only one line came out—and this written in a neat female hand.

**_I need to see you. Meet me in front of the Free Library at 1. Come alone._**

* * *

****

Lilly meant to tell the others about her little rendezvous first thing in the morning. Really she did. But by the time she got to headquarters, new things had turned up and taken top priority. Two officers had been posted at the trailer park where Morgan Newton lived, and neither of them saw him come home. But when he showed up for work at 9 o'clock sharp, the uniforms yawning in Kemp's office quickly roused themselves, seized him and brought him in.

He was nothing like Lilly had pictured—a huge burly flaxen-haired individual, almost an albino, with pink cheeks, a silvery goatee and a the most bewitching pair of harmless-looking sky blue eyes. The closest thing to a 30-something Santa Claus she could ever hope to find. Resisting arrest seemed to be the furthest thing from his mind as he followed the two officers into the main room, gazing around curiously. But as soon as he saw Lilly his demeanor changed.

"You!" he cried out, leaping toward her with his enormous beefy hands held out.

Lilly was so startled she actually took a step back, but the suspect had barely advanced a yard before he found himself tackled from all sides—by his two escorts, Stillman, Vera, Scotty—and just about anyone else available.

"Don't think so, buddy," Stillman told him.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Vera demanded, pulling him up by the collar of his shirt. "You wanna find yourself in a jail cell, smart guy?"

"I just wanted to ask her something," the giant mumbled, looking a little dazed at everyone's reaction.

_Sure you did, _Lilly thought, her heart still beating so furiously it made her hands tremble. She did her best to keep her face grim, inexpressive. It was the only way to avoid showing fear. Because fear it was, this sick jumpy feeling of dread—little as she would have liked to admit it.

So far this suspect was _not _getting in her good graces. _I'm gonna kick his ass in the interrogation room, _she vowed.

But Stillman promptly quenched her thirst for revenge by catching her on her way into the interrogation room. "You watch," he ordered flatly.

"But, boss—"

"No buts. Dammit, Lil—you saw what happened back there. _You're staying behind that glass. _And that's final."

Still seething, she drew up a chair. There were few things she hated more in this world than being singled out—how come they never told _Scotty _to stay away from the bad guys? Not to mention she'd love to be the one to make this perp crack. Who the hell did he think he was, bullying her? It was thanks to him her home life had been disrupted. And she couldn't even begin to express her rage at what he'd done to the Baileys…

"What's this about?" Morgan Newton groused sulkily.

"We already told you. Memory problems, Newton?" Vera jibed.

"I know you said it was about Erica Bailey. But I got nothing to do with that." He was clearly nervous, one eyelid twitching a little and his mouth taking on a tight sort of grimace. "I ain't seen her in years."

"But you _did _know her."

"Yeah… she may have come to the garage once or twice."

Vera strolled around the table to his side, causing him to stiffen up visibly. "From what I heard, you two were real close."

"_Real _close. Like pen pal close," Jeffries added helpfully.

Tiny beads of sweat appeared on Newton's forehead. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Sure you do." Not bothering to waste anymore time, Vera plunked Erica Bailey's letter down in front of him. The suspect's baby blues nearly started out of his head. "What do you have to say about this?"

"What about it?"

"This is a letter Erica Bailey wrote to her children 10 years ago, just before she disappeared. Shall I read it to you?" Jeffries offered pleasantly.

"No—no, that's okay." Newton wiped his forehead on his sleeve. He was practically peeing in his pants and Lilly was glad of it. _Take that, you bully._

"Sounds like you've read it before," mused Vera. "You wouldn't have happened to help write it, would you?"

Morgan Newton stared at the floor.

"I bet you thought no one would notice you'd added that little part in the end," Jeffries put in. "Such a good job you did there, Newton. Handwriting's almost the same. You even had the husband fooled."

"That wasn't my idea," Morgan grumbled, still not looking at them.

"Oh? Whose idea was it then?"

"Hers."

"So you _did _know her." Jeffries came down on him like a ton of bricks. "And real well, by the sounds of this letter. Where is she, Newton? What did you do with her?"

For the first time Morgan Newton raised his head, looking them square in the eye and then staring at the two-way mirror as if he could see Lilly on the other side. His eerie Santa-gone-evil glare made her flesh crawl.

"I ain't done nothin' to Erica," he stated. "I haven't seen her in ten years. You gotta believe me."

"Kinda hard to believe that," Vera reasoned. "Unless you're some kind of letter-writing good Samaritan who goes around finishing other people's mail. I mean, come on—why forge a woman's handwriting on a good-bye note directed to her children, unless you had something to do with her disappearance?"

Finally Morgan Newton sighed. "Okay, we were together. I'll give you that much."

"What did you _do _to her, Newton? Where is she?"

"I dunno where she is. I never laid a hand on her," mumbled Morgan defensively. "She was the one who wouldn't go with me. I offered."

Lilly could see it happening before her. Young Erica Bailey as she was in the Polaroid they'd rescued—blonde and laughing as she wheeled her little girl past Kemp's garage. So disappointed in her husband—so in love with this bulky, pale, round-cheeked mechanic. Or so the round-cheeked mechanic thought. He'd proposed taking her away from her bleak reality, anywhere she wanted. Her little ones could go with her. "No," she'd said. She wanted a clean break—no husband, no children. She needed to be free—home life was throttling her. The kids would be better off with their father until she decided to settle down again. Till then, there was no reason for them to think she was abandoning them, because she wasn't. They'd all be a big happy family again as soon as she got back on her feet. A letter would clear that up just perfect.

"She wasn't a cold hearted bitch," Newton explained. "She loved her kids and even liked her husband a little, she just couldn't stand to be with them right then. So we made our plans. She wasn't ditching her kids—she could come visit them any time. She just didn't want them _living _with her. But when we came to that part she broke down, begged me to write it for her. So I did. But only 'cause she wanted me to."

_Long live mommy of the year, _Lilly thought, rolling her eyes. As much as she hated to admit it, she didn't think Newton was lying—not about this. His face seemed to shine when he spoke of her, as if in spite of everything, he loved her still. Of course that didn't necessarily mean he wasn't the murderer. His speech had succeeded in making her less sympathetic for the victim, though. _Focus, Rush. Keep it professional._

"That's all very interesting," Vera interrupted. "But you still haven't told us where she is."

Newton swore he didn't know. The night they wrote the letter was the last time he had seen her. "I woulda followed her to the end of the world if she'd asked me to," he finished resentfully. "But she decided to take off on her own instead. Never saw her after that."

"You think she could've been seeing someone else?"

For a moment the suspect was silent. Then he answered disgustedly, "You know? Wouldn't put it past her. Married women are all a bunch of whores. I bin out with a couple more since her, and they've always had at least 2 on the side. Nothing makes them happy. But they like to keep a dignified front. Hypocrites."

* * *

At 12:45 pm Lilly left headquarters, gun safely in its holster, all five senses sharp. She knew what she was doing—going alone to meet this mystery woman—was somewhat foolhardy. But the boys had their hands full with Newton, writing down his statement, getting prints and DNA and calligraphy samples. This was something she couldn't really waste their time with. Besides—if Newton was the perp in question, and he was in custody, what was there to worry about?

_Still not going without my gun._

The sky was overcast, a mass of gray swirling clouds. The air was warmer than other days—smelled like rain. It shot down streets and alleys in fierceful gusts, blasting into Lilly's coat and hair as she made her way down to Vine Street where the Free Library was. Public place was good—they couldn't very well expect to hurt her surrounded by hundreds of people.

The clock was just striking one as she came to the aforesaid building, studying her surroundings with a careful eye, impatient at the wind that kept blowing her bangs in her face. It was going to be damn hard to find anyone if she couldn't see. And she desperately needed to be the one to find, not be found. Being found always put you at a definite disadvantage.

A small head with long yellow hair appeared suddenly in front of her, slowly going up the steps leading to the library. Lilly stood transfixed, staring at her as if in a dream.

Long blonde hair, blue eyes—a young and pretty woman, with a smile she knew. Someone she'd seen, not too long ago. In a Polaroid.

Erica Bailey?


	19. Chapter 18

For Snow Ivy, classicTVchic, and Sukkerspinn. They know why. And if they don't—they should.

* * *

**Chapter 18**

Still in a haze, Lilly hardly knew how she drifted down the steps toward the approaching figure. Her hands took hold of shoulders unexpectedly narrow, eyes staring fiercely two apparently nonchalant ones.

"Erica? Erica Bailey?"

Slowly the blue eyes changed, recognition dawning on them, followed by another expression—one of bewilderment and maybe fear. The thin shoulders tried to pull away, but Lilly's trigger-trained hands had too tight a grip on them. "Erica Bailey?" she repeated. _This is too weird, _a part of her mind was screaming out. _Something's wrong. Why does she look so scared if she was one who asked you to meet her here?_

"Erica Bailey," she doggedly persisted.

"What the damn hell do you think you're doing?" a rough male voice exploded at her side, the unanticipated brunt of it causing her to release her culprit and break out of her stupor. "Get your damn hands off my daughter—_now._"

_Shit. _Lilly's heart sank as low as it would go, watching miserably as the face before her mutated, taking on its real form—the form of a terrified child. Tall, yes. Convincing as a young woman? Maybe. Blonde and blue eyed, true. Same hair, same smile. The resemblance was unmistakable. But Erica Bailey this was not.

"Daddy!" the girl cried out, ripping out of her grasp as if she were the devil himself.

"Oh… it's _you._"

These three words held so much sour disdain, Lilly made the effort, reluctantly, to see who had pronounced them. Surprise, surprise—it was Aaron Bailey. Somewhere deep inside her, something cracked in despair—she could actually feel the bitter taste of it in her mouth. Not only did the headway she thought she'd made not exist, but she somehow managed to continue injuring the very family she wanted to help. _Get a grip, Rush. Crush down that lump in your throat and don't let me see you at it again. Big girls don't cry._

"I should have known you'd come poking around here again," Aaron Bailey was ranting in worn-out resignation. "Since you seem to have a special taste for upsetting my family."

"I'm sorry," Lilly blurted helplessly, glancing at the frightened girl and wondering how she could ever have mistaken her for a grown up. _I'm really losing it—_she shook her head in disbelief—_maybe I should just go to bed and never get up again. _"I didn't mean to scare her. I received this note… and thought it had come from your wife."

"My wife," Aaron Bailey snorted derisively, then seemed to remember his daughter was still nearby and toned it down. "Why should we want to know where she ran off to? Look here, detective—I told you once before. _We don't care. _She's not a part of our lives anymore. We're just not interested. So why don't you get off our case?"

"I can't," Lilly had been about to say, a hopefully convincing explanation rising to her lips. But she never got a chance to deliver it, because the girl, suddenly gone bold, chose that moment to step out from behind her father.

"_I'm_ interested," she declared, jaw set. "Daddy, I have to know. I know you don't want me to, but please let her tell me. Please. Detective—do you know where she is?"

She was a little girl again, golden pigtails bobbing and glinting in the sunshine as she made her bumpy way down to Kemp's garage, sitting up in her stroller and waving her arms around happily. Lilly could almost see her mother's hands pushing it—fair hands with pinkish knuckles. Soft, young. Alive. Erica Bailey might have been lousy mother by common standards—but she was _somebody's _mother.

The girl was right—she deserved to know.

"We have a man in custody who we suspect had a part in this." Lilly's words burst forth with a speed that surprised her, nearly devoid of control. "He seems to be the one who wrote the letter you received, Mr. Bailey. We have reason to believe your daughter may have seen him as a child. Would you let her come back with me to Headquarters and see if she can ID him?"

* * *

It wasn't till she was back in Headquarters that she realized she'd missed a major part of the jigsaw puzzle—who the hell had contacted her, if not Erica Bailey? She certainly hadn't stuck around to see. Deep down in her heart she'd been just too thrilled believing it was Erica Bailey. To find her alive and well—and in Philadelphia, of all things—was just too much of a treat. Not exactly a compliment to their department that she'd been hiding under their very noses all this time, but the odds of finding her alive were slim to none—and presenting this girl and her brother with a living, breathing mom was the closest thing to a happy ending she could hope to give them.

"Call came in for you, Rush," Vera called out as she was leading the Baileys out back.

_A call? _"Who was it?"

Not even bothering to glance up, Vera shrugged. "Wouldn't say. A woman. Just said she wanted to talk to you. When I told her you were out she hung up."

_Thanks a lot for hanging up on my contact, Nick. _Never mind, she had more important things to focus on for now—she could gang up on Vera anytime.

Morgan Newton was still glumly parked in interrogation room 3, looking ludicrously out of proportion in the close, dark, restricted quarters, his stout steel-backed chair practically bursting under his bulk. Stillman refused to take his eyes off the two-way.

"Any news, boss?" Lilly interjected.

"Nope." Stillman's sigh was definitely of the disappointed kind. "But he's been cooperative enough. We've got all the samples we needed. Now we just need to match up." His gaze caught on the two standing hesitantly in the hallway. "Who are they?"

"Jenna, Aaron Bailey's daughter. Remember Jason said his mom had 'wheeled his sister in her stroller'? She might recognize him."

Stillman's expression was highly skeptical. "Lil—she was two. We should consider ourselves lucky she even remembers what her _mother _looked like."

"Can't hurt," Lilly pressed on. "Please, boss?"

* * *

It had begun to rain— fat raindrops splattered against the windows and melting into the last of the slushy roadside snow. After the cold spell of the last few weeks, a little mild rain would be more than welcome. One could even be cheesy and consider it the first sign of spring.

Scotty tore himself from the window and found himself foolishly grinning at the rest of the homicide squad gathered around the room. Everyone was as they should be—Vera perched on the edge of Lilly's desk, Lilly leaning back in her chair, Jeffries by the coffee machine. He was feeling so much more optimistic these days—more than he had since this whole case started. Hell—since the big blow-out with Lilly. Since Elisa's death. Once and for all, life seemed to be falling back into place. He was pulling himself together—getting on with things. Just as Elisa would have wanted.

"All right. What have we got?" Stillman's voice, all competence, cut into his reverie.

"Well, Jenna Bailey recognized Morgan Newton as the man her mother used to visit when she was little," Lilly informed them, all brisk, business-like indifference.

Scotty couldn't help leering at her—she was so obviously gloating. Try as she might, she never could smother the triumphant tone when she got something right—or proved someone else wrong. Their eyes met and he quickly straightened his face, expecting to be clobbered. Much to his surprise, not only did _not _clobber him, she actually sent a conspiratorial little half smile in return.

_Well, I'll be danged…!_

"That's no good." Jeffries deliberated. "It helps, but it doesn't prove anything. She was only 2. Not a competent witness. She could be mistaken. Or influenced."

"I don't think she was, though," Vera irreverently put in his two cents. "You should've seen how pissed her pop was! I thought he'd burst through the mirror and beat the crap out of the other guy."

His tittering threatened to get out line, but one glare from Stillman set him back on track. "We get anything back from the lab?"

"Handwriting experts confirmed it was Morgan Newton's hand that wrote the second half of that letter. His prints match some of the prints found on the paper too. And there's more…"

That was Scotty's cue. He'd shamelessly begged Jeffries to be allowed to deliver these news at least, since they were by far the most exciting. "They match a set of prints taken off the public phone that night the call to my house was made," he announced, pausing for effect. "The ones not on IAFIS."

Silence all around as the Powers That Be—namely, Stillman—digested this new intelligence.

"CSU found some stuff Aaron Bailey recognized as his wife's in Newton's trailer, too," added Jeffries. "They're digging around the trailer park now."

After what seemed ages, Stillman made his verdict. "Well, looks like this is our man. Everything points to him. All circumstantial evidence, but we have enough grounds to keep him here overnight at least. I say we lean on him till he cracks. But tomorrow. Let's give CSU a chance to find more evidence, maybe a body buried in that trailer park. You all go home, get some sleep meanwhile."

"Hey, walk you to the train?" Scotty proposed, watching Lilly artfully wind a thick white scarf around her neck. He wasn't trying to be annoying—really, he wasn't. He just wanted to emphasize the fact they were on good terms again. And what better than walking along home like two good buds?

"Okay," replied Lilly, after a slight pause, as if she'd been caught off-guard.

As they made their way downstairs, well-muffled and umbrellas ready, Scotty couldn't help stealing sidelong glances at her. How far could he push his luck, he wondered? The grim, forbidding Lilly Rush appeared actually happy for a change. He wondered if that was all due to the fact she'd been right about Jenna Bailey, or if she'd made peace with herself regarding other things.

Either way, he was just glad they were able to talk and banter together almost like before—as if no ill will had ever passed between them. How long would it last? Would it be worth trying to "talk"—pry information from her, find a reason for her actions?

_Hell no, Valens. She ain't gonna tell. You're just gonna make her sore at you again._

He was in the middle of cracking a joke about the hypothetical tele-tubby umbrella Vera would get for his birthday when the elevator door opened and, coquettishly—"Scotty, there you are."

Scotty froze in his tracks, feeling as if someone had plunged an icicle down his back. _Christina. Oh shit. Bad timing, hun. _

And yet she looked so attractive, so gentle and fuzzy under that endless mass of yellow curls. Her smile warmed his heart in spite of himself. How could he ever blame her?

Furiously, he ordered his numb tongue to work. "Chris—hi," he stammered, not daring to look at Lilly who had gone ominously still at his side.

Not noticing, or, worse yet, not caring, Christina just leaned into him in an embrace. "I've been missing you, Scotty. You coming home?"

There was an awkward silence, and next thing he knew, Lilly had shot clear out of the elevator and was a hundred yards ahead of him in the rain, never looking back. Chris didn't so much as glance after her—Scotty realized she'd probably never even noticed she was there. Not even her affectionate attentions could keep his mind from registering the loss. He'd really blown it this time.

* * *

Lilly stalked out into the parking lot in a fume. Of all the nerve! For Christina to just waltz into her place of work as if she hadn't been kicked out of her house merely a few weeks ago, as if she hadn't disrupted her entire life and everyone in it—and on top of that not even acknowledging her! And Scotty, like an idiot, melting into her smile like some oversized lump of butter. What kind of a man was he anyway?

_A seduced man, _the reasonable little voice in her mind reminded her. _Can't really blame him. Don't forget what she's like. Don't forget where she learned all her tricks. No one can resist her._

Knowing her sister was an accomplished slut didn't really make her attitude—or Scotty's—hurt any less, though.

"Detective Rush?" a timid whisper shot out of the darkness, making her jump.

"Show yourself," she growled, right hand at her holster as she turned, squinting at the blurry figure emerging from the shadows.Slowly it took the shape of a woman—filthy, shivering and bedraggled, as if she'd been lingering outside Headquarters for hours. "Sarah Bryant?"

"I heard Regan was here," murmured Sarah, wringing her hands fretfully. "I just… wanted to see her. Make sure she was okay. I don't want her blamed for anything. It was my fault they died. All of them."

Lilly's sympathies were touched and she willed her tone to be softer, more understanding. "I know. She told us everything. You won't be charged. But why in the world did you run? You only made yourself look even more suspicious."

"I know," Sarah gulped. Her eyes were huge, dark and distraught. "I was just scared. Scared and stupid. She… didn't tell you about the accident, did she?"

"Accident? What accident?"

For a moment Sarah looked like she was going to bolt. But she didn't. She just stood there, shaking, her teeth chattering so hard she could barely get any words out. "I've been hiding this for years," she finally managed to say. "But I can't anymore. It's too much. I'm turning myself in."


	20. Chapter 19

**Warning: **disturbing imagery ahead.

For Schafferius.

* * *

**Chapter 19**

_This better be good, _brooded Stillman dourly, leading Lilly and her blanketed culprit into one of the dim interrogation rooms with farless than his usual zest. The heat had been turned off about an hour ago and the air was already beginning to get chilly. Last thing he wanted after a hard day at work was having to freeze to death babysitting this star witness of Lilly's. Then again—he reminded himself—it _was _the long-lost Sarah Bryant, who, according to his best detective, was on the verge of giving a sound confession. It would be barely legal to pass up this chance.

Sarah Bryant was in shambles—almost more than her friend Regan had been. _Tit for tat, _sparkled Stillman's weary mind in spite of himself. He would have smiled… except this was no laughing matter. The poor girl's face was pale and tear-streaked, lips nearly blue, her fingers gripping Lilly's steaming pet coffee mug as if its mission were to keep her anchored to the ground.

"Well?" Stillman prompted kindly—or as kindly as could be expected at this untimely hour.

"I did it," the girl croaked. "I killed that woman."

No beating around the bush. Stillman wasn't sure why he felt so disconcerted—or why a part of him refused to believe her. It just sounded phoney to his ears. But what reason could anyone possibly have for saying they killed someone when they hadn't? And her anxiety seemed genuine enough…

"Tell him how, Sarah," instructed Lilly. Something in her countenance caught Stillman's notice. He couldn't have placed his finger on it, but she seemed strange, savage somehow. Drained and crestfallen—frosty and cynical, with deep dark rings around her eyes.

Heaving a gusty sigh, Sarah's account finally began. "It was the first time we came here, with Regan. November 2002. Regan had just found out she was pregnant, she had to get her check up."

It wasn't hard to visualize the two climbing into their car that chilly autumn day. He'd seen both girls at their worst, he could picture them at their best—Sarah's face pink-cheeked and buoyant, Regan's brown curls flying in the wind. Then again maybe they'd never been that lighthearted—not with the drama of Regan's hidden pregnancy in the background. Their faces were tense, Sarah's lips tight as she gunned her compact down the interstate. Not talking, both worried about what might happen once they found themselves at the doctor's doorstep, these two nobody girls from Shenandoah University, trying to bring an unwanted baby to safe term.

They'd wanted to make it home before dark, but sunset met them an hour shy. They'd set out too late—Sarah told her they should have cut those damn afternoon classes. But Regan hadn't wanted to—she was such a nerd sometimes. So Sarah stepped on it, made her car go twice as fast as it was supposed to. And then, taking a curve, neither of them actually saw what happened.

"There was this horrible sound." Sarah's voice cracked. "We hit something. I don't know what, but it sounded real loud and made us swerve. Regan screamed and I pulled over. We didn't know what to do."

Sarah thought they'd been stoned. Regan was convinced it was a person they'd hit. They hadn't really perceived anything—not even a shadow. Sarah was petrified—she didn't want to look. If it was a person, she didn't want to see it. She couldn't handle it if it was.

"But Regan's hormones totally lost it," she sniffled. "She started screaming that we had murdered someone and we _had _to look. So finally we did. There was no crash barrier on that side of the road. It was a corn field or something—the plants were really tall. It was so dark. We couldn't see anything, and I was terrified we'd run into a corpse."

They'd trampled through stalks and called out till they were hoarse, but they never found anyone. Just the red leather purse. "It was just lying there, like it had been knocked out of somebody's hand. No blood or anything." Biting her lip, Sarah added, "and Erica Bailey's ID inside."

* * *

There were a lot of days in 30 years. Many of them unfriendly days, surrounded by poker-faced, unfriendly people. And of all these days and all these people, Scotty Valens would swear today was the worst.

His partner sat by him in their assigned car, stiff and reticent, a frozen statue. She didn't even volunteer a hello, just stared out the window. _So that's how it's gonna be, _Scotty thought. Part of him longed to feel wounded, but strangely enough the predominant emotion was guilt. Chris had been all over him the night before, and he hadn't even felt like making love to her afterwards. The image of Lilly racing disappointedly away had been permanently engraved in his mind.

"So what happened to the purse?" he asked, mostly for the sake of conversation but also out of a real desire to know. Rain cascaded down on the windshield, making it hard to see the road.

"She threw it into the Delaware," Lilly inhospitably filled him in. "Just kept the money and the ID."

"Kinda calculating, don't you think?"

Lilly's hunched shoulders plainly said—I couldn't care less. He kept his mouth shut for a long time afterwards.

The maize field Sarah had described was an hour or so south of Philadelphia. Oddly enough, the tire tracks were still there from when she had stepped on the brakes. CSU had already unloaded their equipment and were standing around in waterproof coats, all more or less morose, clearly not thrilled at having to comb through 3-year-old scene on this pouring day.

"If there's a body there, you find it," Stillman had ordered.

And find it they would—even if it didn't seem the least bit probable there'd be one. Sarah's story was extremely sketchy. She'd never glimpsed the person they'd hit, who knew there was a person at all? Couldn't it have been just the purse? Maybe someone had flung it across the interstate in a mad rage. Of course either way, whether it was flung or knocked off somebody's hand, it still implied it had been around in 2002. Which really didn't make any sense, considering Erica had vanished in 1995. What was she still doing near Philly 7 years later? Where had she stashed herself all that time? Why hadn't she gone back for her children? Even for a peek? Why hadn't she used her credit cards? If she'd taken on a new identity—what was her old driver's permit still doing in her purse?

Two hours went by and all they had to show for it were more murderous glares from the CSU crew. Talk about tired and cross—like if they were the only ones susceptible to the wet cold. Lilly's face was funny, pale and red-nosed, bangs plastered to her forehead. Scotty's insides yearned to make a smartass comment but he knew it wouldn't be well received. She'd been about as responsive as a brick wall all morning.

Finally the call of triumph hailed them. "Hey—detectives!"

Scotty hightailed it over to where the action was, a whole bunch of people squatting in the mud. Eyes peeled for human remains, he failed to see what they were really pointing at, a half-buried piece of plastic. Fishing it out with gloved hands, it turned out to be a bank card. The name, barely visible, read Erica S. Bailey.

"That it?"

Lilly squinted at him in distaste. "Proves Sarah's story is true," she declared, her tone clearly stating he was too dumb to figure it out on his own.

"Never doubted it," Scotty defended himself. "But it still don't get us anywhere."

Lilly ignored him and began speaking to CSU. _Suit yourself, _Scotty shot back as he turned away, his patience at end. He glanced at the road, trying to figure out how someone standing on the other side could manage to throw the purse this far. The sight of a strange car idling just beyond theirs made him do a double take.

"Hey!" he yelled, starting toward it. Much to his surprise, the car—an old beat-up red chevy—squealed to life and blasted away. No license plates. _Where the hell have I seen that car before?_

* * *

Jeffries couldn't pretend to be unhappy. Their quest had been pretty damn successful. CSU had not turned up a body at Newton's trailer park, but they'd come across a whole bunch of other Erica Bailey stuff—jewelry, clothes… even underwear. What kind of a psycho would keep the underwear of a woman who had left him 10 years before? It had to be some sort of fetish—or trophy. On the other hand, it seemed now Erica Bailey had been alive at least till 2002. Either way it proved he was lying his head off.

_Where are you? _he thought, concentrating on the blonde woman's image, trying to find her concealed in the walls or underground. He knew Stillman had been unable to shake Newton's story back in headquarters. Spending the night in a jail cell hadn't really scared Newton into anything but screaming for a lawyer. Now they were screwed. Already the lawyer had demanded they do a polygraph if they didn't trust his client, which he'd passed with flying colors. Of course those things could easily be fooled.

Now they'd be forced to release him. But not yet. Not with all the evidence piling against him. All circumstantial, to be sure—but even Kite would have to agree there was enough for a trial. Maybe they could bully him into striking a deal, get him to tell where he'd put Erica. Then her family would be able to give her a decent burial at least.

His mind flew involuntarily back to Mary for a second and he felt a stab of pain. Having your wife's body to bury was scanty comfort, but it was better than nothing. Catching the person responsible for it—_that _was something to live for.

"Hey, Will!" screeched Vera, his voice about an octave higher than usual. Startled, Jeffries sauntered over to where he was bent over the door to this old shed, a few yards away from the trailer. "Take a look at this."

Jeffries cringed. A CSU investigator was already inside, shining a blacklight. Ghoulishly, a pale shimmering cloud appeared in the back wall, faintly resembling the mushroomexpanse of a nuclear bomb, spreading at least a foot in every direction.

"Blood." Vera smacked his lips in satisfaction. "Lots and lots of blood."

* * *

Lilly felt unusually blithe as she hopped down the stairs after the long day. Rain pelted down in sheets, turning the parking lot into a huge, sodden, dripping mess. But she couldn't care less. She was too high on the idea of being on the verge of closing this case. It had burdened her more than most. Neither the victims nor the doer were in any way connected to her, but it had all been so dense, so full of thorny human drama, she was only too happy to put it behind her. Both the twins and Erica deserved justice—and damned if they weren't going to get it.

Everything so far pointed to Morgan Newton. He had worked in Kemp's garage during the time of Erica's disappearance, he'd been recognized by Jenna Bailey, he had admitted to having a relationship with her, he was responsible for half that note. Her clothes had been found all over his trailer. Blood littered his walls. He'd passed the polygraph—it was true. But fooling the lie detector wouldn't be hard for a psychopath. Didn't matter what that thing said—he was guilty as sin, and he knew it.

Best of all—he was in custody. He wouldn't be bothering or threatening anyone anymore. His filthy prints had been all over the phone used to call Scotty that time—how dare he? And then he'd tried to go for her at Headquarters as well. What an obvious fuck up.

Her own words came back to haunt her: _"People stepped forward only when they were so desperate they'd risk anything to avoid getting caught… including getting caught. It was the great criminal paradox." _

Funny how accurate that had turned out to be in this case.

She knew finding the one responsible for his wife's disappearance wouldn't erase the troubled lines from Aaron Bailey's brow, but it might help answer his daughter's questions and maybe even reunite him with his son. It wasn't the perfect solution, but it was as much as the police could do for such a dysfunctional family. The rest… was just up to them.

Whipping up her umbrella, Lilly stepped out into the gaping black parking lot, actually enjoying the sound of raindrops hitting the plastic. She wasn't particularly fond of rain, but when joined with a feeling of relief and satisfaction, there was a sort of soothing quality to it. She wondered what Willie the Baby Bodyguard would say when she let him know his nights of free coffee and Cartoon Network were over.

What happened next was a mystery. Neither then nor afterwards could she explain how she never heard anyone coming behind her, never noticed any movement. All she knew was that one moment she was cheerfully strolling down the flooded parking lot, next, the umbrella had been jerked out from overhead and she was landing head-first into a puddle.

"What the—" she managed to sputter. All sorts of alarms were going off in her head, instincts telling her to get up and fight before it was too late. But her eyes, nose and mouth were filled with water, she couldn't even see. And by the time she'd cleared her eyes up some, a vise-strong grip had caught hold of her wrist.

Not even waiting to see who it was, Lilly swung her other arm into the assailant's face, knocking him off balance, spun around and _ran. _But something grabbed her foot and she found herself promptly slammed back down with a sickening thump. Winded, she was unable to claw her way backto her feet as some unseen force dragged her back across the blacktop. The light from the lamppost was suddenly gone, and, before she realized what was happening, she was yanked around onto her back, for the first time catching a glimpse of a masked shape hovering above her, eerily close, eyes veiled and menacing.

"Just couldn't leave well enough alone, could you, bitch," he snarled.

_That voice, _Lilly's mind was a whirlwind. _Where have I heard that voice?_

Fingers closed around her throat, dead weight settling on her midriff. _This guy's sitting on me! _her dignity protested. But as his hands tightened it soon became clear that was the least of her problems. It was increasingly difficult to breathe. _There's not gonna be a next time to fight back, Rush. It's now or never._

Gathering all the strength she could muster with her oxygen-deprived brain, Lilly pretended to go limp and then flailed out with all she was worth. Her elbow slammed into his shoulder at the same time her knee wedged itself between his. For one horrifying second her larynx felt like it was about to snap, but then his fingers loosened and she pried herself away, her heart beating so fast she wondered how it didn't explode.

"You fucking whore!" a voice flared up behind her, just before an agonizing pain in her scalp let her know he'd seized her by the hair. A stunning blow struck her to the ground, skull crashing into the pavement—no puddle this time. Her eyesight blurred.

"All you whores are the same," he kept huffing in the background, on and on like some sort of hellish neverending tape. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Lilly was vaguely aware of cloth ripping, but it was some time before she realized it was her own. Her favorite overcoat with its burgundy lining had just been torn clear off her shoulders, and by the sound of things, her blouse was next. She was suddenly nauseatingly conscious of his hands on her, groping her, mauling her, trailing through places _no one _had access to without her permission.

_Wake up! _the long-forgotten ten-year-old inside her screamed. _Anything but this. Not here, not in Our world—not in Headquarters. Wake up, Rush!_

In a second she was up and struggling, squirming, fighting with all the energy she had. But it was too late. He was just too strong, too heavy—he had all the advantage. She'd let things get too far.

_Scream, Rush!_

Her mouth opened into the downpour, hoping someone would hear her hopeless gurgle. But the words weren't even out before a fist smashed into her jaw, rendering her silent. "Yeah, you go ahead and howl, bitch."

Limply, Lilly's fading alertness barely registered the sound of pants unzipping. Her face throbbed with pain—a horrible searing pain she remembered all too well. The taste of blood on her tongue stirred memories buried deep, things she would have preferred to leave behind. For years they'd been hiding there, in her subconscious—lurking through her dreams, checking her emotions. Now it was all happening before her, all over again—the little girl with the long hair spread out behind her, screaming, screaming for help—screaming for her mommy, screaming against the bad man who insisted on pounding her, even after she'd given him all she had. An innocent little girl sent unsuspectingly to the liquor store in the middle of the night—a little girl who, after that night, would be a child no longer.

_This isn't happening to me again, _the ten-year-old sentenced, resolve and rage flooding through her like lightning. _I'm grown up now, I'm a detective. This is **not** happening to me **ever **again._

Horror pumping through her system, adrenaline coursing through her body, Lilly suddenly found herself on her feet. How she'd got there was unclear. Her attacker was writhing on the ground and she realized she was kicking him—over and over and over, brutal furious blows like she could never remember giving before.

_Die, you son of a fucking bitch._

And then someone was clutching her shoulder, holding her back, stopping her when she didn't want to be stopped. Distraught, wild-eyed, Lilly turned—prepared to destroy anyone who stood in the way of her revenge.

Scotty and Stillman's shocked faces gawked back at her.


	21. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

Stillman couldn't believe what he saw. Proof was standing right in front of him, but he still refused to grasp it, his mind simply wouldn't understand it. It couldn't be taking place, this implausible scene. It was like some sort of bad joke, a ridiculous nightmare—one he wished he'd wake up from _soon._ He'd seen Lilly safe and sound, intact—happy, in fact—not fifteen minutes before. How could her condition change so drastically in so little time?

It was the look in her eyes that shook him. His gut took a downward plunge as memory served, painfully recognizing it against his will. It had been eighteen years since he'd last seen it—in someone else's eyes. A person very close to his heart, younger, more naïve—but all in all, not physically unlike the person in front of him now.

He didn't want to summon up what it meant—the idea made him sick. It couldn't be his best detective standing there in the torrent—the usually imposing, respectable Lilly Rush—face swollen, lip split, bleeding, clothes hanging off her body in soiled, soggy shreds.

You didn't have to be a genius to figure it out.

Scotty's gasp stirred him out of his shock. Neither had seen the perpetrator huddled on the ground a few feet away. The damn bastard had somehow managed to stagger to his feet and would have escaped if Scotty hadn't broken into a run, overtaking him. Down they went, both of them, a tangle of arms and legs, Scotty somehow extricating himself long enough to snap a pair of handcuffs across his wrists. Rain teemed down on them, drops bouncing off the cuffs with a tinny thud.

Motionless, Stillman's gaze drifted over to Lilly again. She wasn't looking at him. Nor at the ground, nor at Scotty—nor at her attacker. Her chest heaved but no sound came out—she wasn't saying or doing anything, just standing there, swaying slightly, arms spread, like a scarecrow. Blood ran in rivulets down her face, dripping down to the blacktop below. Stillman's stomach was in anxious knots. He couldn't bear the thought of yet another person close to him hurt, slipping through his fingers, wronged without him being able to do anything about it. He longed to reach out to her, as he had to Janie years before, but he didn't dare. This was Lilly Rush they were talking about—no physical contact included. His own daughter had warded him off. What was to stop Lilly from doing the same?

And yet he couldn't leave her standing there half-naked in the storm.

On instinct he found himself removing his coat and offering it to her… Surprisingly enough, she took it. Her fingers were ice cold.

"Boss!"

Suddenly afraid Scotty might be roughing up the culprit—though God knew if there wasn't a case to be built against him, he'd actually applaud it—Stillman snapped back into Lieutenant mode. "Don't—" he warned.

But he shouldn't have worried. Scotty might be a hothead, wildly impulsive when provoked, and he'd made his mistakes in the past. But his behavior this time had been blameless.

Lilly's assailant had been reduced to his knees, face concealed by a stocking mask. But any injury he might have had been brought on by Lilly, and Lilly alone. There wasn't a single fresh scratch on him.

Under his unflinching stare, Scotty's hand reached down and pulled off the disguise.

* * *

Lilly's knees were wobbly, her ears ringing in a way that seemed to drill straight through her brain. The pain from her injuries was long gone, spirited away by the adrenaline brought on by her frenzied raid against the lunatic. Her feet physically ached for more flesh to sink into. Liquid poured down her face—but whether it was blood or rain she couldn't really be sure. The only thing she could be certain of so far—the only lesion she'd appraised—was that her teeth were all still there. Her mind could only focus on one thing in order to stay in control, and this was counting her front teeth over and over again, feeling comfort in the fact they were all there, whole and untouched.

_Breathe, Rush. Breathe, _she kept telling herself. _It's over. He didn't get what he came for. You're okay._

Stillman seemed to be talking to her. She couldn't bring herself to face him—didn't want him to _see_. Once he saw it would be real. She'd be a victim, and she didn't want to be. Not in front of her boss of all people. And Scotty. _Scotty_—Christina's lover. Oh God, how would she ever live this down?

_Breathe, Rush. Take it easy. Just—count the teeth. That's a good girl._

A coat was thrust in front of her and she snatched at it, not realizing till then how frozen she was. Every part of her was absolutely soaked—chilled to the bone.

Stillman was speaking to her again. Or was he? Maybe she was hearing things. No—he'd said a word. But just one word. Followed by some sort of exclamation. And now he wasn't staring at her anymore.

Reluctantly, she followed his frown along the pavement to where she knew the thug lay. Scotty had shoved him to the ground. And removed the mask. The same sinister dark orbs she'd seen before, on top of her, met hers for an instant—not fearful or broken down. Just filled with an unexpected, imbalanced hatred.

Now she remembered where she'd heard his voice before.

It was Robert Feldman.

* * *

_Robert Feldman. _

Scotty gaped—he couldn't get it through his head. Robert Feldman! This was the guy whose wife had found the twins buried in their yard—the one who had witnessed the big brawl between him and Lilly. The one they'd been keeping updated every step of the way—certain his only interest in knowing was to report it to his grieving, fretful wife.

_Son of a bitch…! _

His grasp on the back of his neck hardened, fists tingling in rage. The image of Lilly, his partner, beat-up, wounded, having who knew what done to her, would haunt him for a long time to come. His mind desperately raced for a way to make it better, even knowing nothing ever could. _Why couldn't we be better friends? _he kept agonizing. _If only we'd been good, I woulda walked home with her. If Christina hadn't showed up yesterday, she wouldn't have been so freaking mad at me. And then I coulda walked her to the train—and this never would've happened._

"Pull yourself together," came Stillman's harsh whisper, maybe realizing his attention had become permanently fixed on Lilly's wavering shadow. "This is not the time for recriminations. Take this asshole inside—and don't do _anything _that could injure our case."

"Sure, boss," mumbled Scotty almost unintelligibly, heaving the perp to his feet. Damn this was a tall, heavy motherfucker. Built like a goddamn ox. Poor Lil never had a chance.

_Don't go there, Valens._

Rape and Lilly Rush were three words that were _never_ meant to go in the same sentence. It made him nauseated just thinking about it. He wished he could banish them from his mind—ridiculous. Sacrilegious. _Impossible_.

But he knew it wasn't.

And whatever had happened there, he was at least partly responsible. He'd been feeding this maniac tips about the investigation; and allowed Lilly to do the same. None of them had ever considered him a suspect. He'd let Lilly go alone—out of _pride. _She wanted nothing to do with him, to be on her pig-headed own—well, let her. And here were the consequences.

It just didn't make sense for Robert Feldman to be the stalker. Why should he? What did _he _have to do with anything?

Guilt-ridden, masochistic, he couldn't resist turning back to peer at Lilly one last time. She and Stillman were moving slowly across the parking lot toward Stillman's car. He couldn't tell if words had passed between them or not. All he could make out, for one brief moment, was Stillman's hand resting on her shoulder, an unspoken gesture of support. And for that one short-lived second he almost wished he could trade places with him—be her confidante, her rock, her friend for a change.

But he guessed that chance was gone forever.

* * *

Next day was wintry and cloudy as ever, but at least the rain had stopped. The streets were plastered in muck. All that remained of Lilly's struggle in the parking lot were a few rusty-colored smudges and the general feeling of worry, disbelief, and apprehension that one of their own could be so easily tampered with.

She hadn't come in, obviously. Vera had expected as much. Although with Rush, you could never be sure. He'd had a standing bet with Jeffries, that even if she were involved in a shooting or a stand-up fight with a serial killer, the next day would find her bright and early at her desk, all set and ready for business.

It would be a while before he cracked a sick joke like that again.

He couldn't believe it when Scotty told him. And Stillman. The way they depicted the scene was enough to leave his mouth hanging open. Apparently Rush had beat the shit out of the guy, but not before he caused some serious damage.

And now he was supposed to interrogate him.

_Interrogate him—huh. Kicking his worthless ass is what I should be doing._

Preliminary inquiries had shown the following:

Robert Feldman worked at Kemp's garage alongside Newton, and had since before Erica Bailey was abducted. Newton had been questioned thoroughly about him, they had no way of proving if he'd ever been in a relationship with Erica, but at least he'd seen her the few times she'd called on him down at the garage. He was a temp back then, which could account for why his name had never come up during any of their searches. It was stamped out loud and clear in recent records, though—an unforgivable piece of information they'd overlooked.

As if that weren't enough, Valens recalled seeing a ramshackle red chevy on the highway the day before, when they'd been rummaging through the weeds for remainders of Erica Bailey. Same car had been found parked just outside Police Headquarters. No license plates. Ultimately it was also traced to Kemp's garage, "borrowed" without permission.

Feldman's prints were run through IAFIS, unsuccessfully. When they were run against the unidentified prints found on the phone used to call Scotty the night of the first threat, they matched.

So now they had two matching set of prints, two possible suspects: Morgan Newton and Robert Feldman. Feldman was undoubtedly responsible for what had happened to Lilly. Was he responsible for Erica Bailey as well?

"Why'd you do it, Robert?" Vera demanded, confronting the stony-faced suspect across the small interrogation room table.

"Do what?" Feldman coolly wanted to know.

Vera's fists balled in anger. _Don't gimme that shit, you son of a bitch. _"Dance on the bar with a _sombrero _on your head—what do you think, smartass? Why'd you rough up Detective Rush?"

"Wasn't roughing up I had in mind—" Feldman drawled, and Vera had to squeeze his palms against the table and clamp his jaw down tight, to keep himself from bashing his skull into the wall.

"Spare me," he scoffed. "You made a phone call to Detective Valens threatening her—trying to get her to stop the investigation. My question is _why._"

Feldman appeared utterly bored. "Who's to say why we do the things we do?" He seemed to get a kick out of leading them nowhere.

Jeffries unexpectedly detached himself from a dark corner, face somber, inscrutable. "Don't forget you're facing some serious charges," he growled. "Assault on a police officer is a major felony. _If _you can prove there were mitigating circumstances, we might be willing to go easier on you."

Vera scowled at him. Sure he was lying—no self-respecting cop would ever back out on a fellow detective like that. But that didn't make it sound any less offensive toward Lilly. _Mitigating circumstances, my ass. _There could be no mitigating circumstances for what this fucking bastard had done—or tried to do.

"Ok," he cut in gruffly. "Lemme tell you what I think. You're obviously a good lookin' fella—bet the girls don't just say no to you, do they. And working in Kemp's garage, you musta seen this blonde, pretty housewife coming down everyday to visit Newton. That can't be, you think—her wanting to be with this big Hulk Hogan kinda guy instead of you. So you put the moves on her. She'll have none of it. Then what? Fill in the blanks, loverboy."

Loverboy smirked at him. "You really think that's how it happened?"

Vera was rapidly reaching the end of his rope. "What did you do to Erica Bailey, Feldman?"

"Who says I ever did anything to Erica Bailey? Didn't even know her."

"According to Morgan Newton, you couldn't keep your eyes off her. You knew who she was, all right."

Robert Feldman shrugged. "I may have seen her from time to time. Can't recall her now."

"Morgan Newton thinks she was seeing another man. Erica's son remembers her lover being tall and dark-haired. That sound familiar to you?" Jeffries jumped in.

Feldman gave him a lazy grin. "Lotsa people are dark haired and tall, you know, detective."

"Tell us what you did with her. With Erica Bailey. Your prints are all over that purse you threw across the interstate. Yeah—we found it. You honestly thought you'd get rid of it hurling it around like that?"

For the first time, Robert Feldman's demeanor changed, a tense sort of shadow falling across his eyes.

"Purse was found in 2002. Erica Bailey disappeared in 1995. Where'd you keep her all that time, Feldman? You were obviously the last to see her—your prints are on that purse."

"I don't know what you're talking about," seethed Feldman.

"Sure you don't. But you're not half as smart as you think you are," Jeffries interposed grandly. Now it was _their_ turn to gloat. "Stalking Detective Rush all this time, thinking she was on to you. But check this out—_we had nothing on you till you attacked her. _We weren't after you—at all. You weren't even a suspect. Thanks to your little stunt, we now have your prints and all the other incriminating evidence. You've given yourself up, my friend."

If he hadn't been such an unpopular guy at the moment, his reaction would have been hilarious. Slack-jawed, wide-eyed, the thought of his _not _being a suspect had evidently never crossed his mind. _Got him! _Vera exulted, expecting none other than a full confession.

But the only spiteful words that crossed his lips were, "I want a lawyer."


	22. Chapter 21

**Yes, I know. I took too damn long. Season 3 had a bad effect over my Muse. But I think we're over it. Thanks for your patience, everyone!**

* * *

**Chapter 21**

Lilly had spent the whole morning lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling. Her cats lazed around her in different positions, nestling against her, keeping her warm. As if they knew it was their comfort she needed.

She had actually spent most of the night in the same occupation. Going straight to bed after the Emergency Room hadn't really helped any—she'd been much too sore to sleep. Her body ached in places she barely knew she had, as if she'd taken a drop from a third floor window. Her cut lip throbbed, her ribs felt like they were poking through her skin every time she drew a breath. The doctor at the ER said she'd been lucky to get out of it unscathed, or almost—no broken bones, hardly any cuts, a very minor concussion. Her jaw had taken the beating much better this time than as a child.

Stillman had insisted they take pictures of all her injuries. Though he was more interested in her well being—and Lilly didn't doubt it—physical proof of her assault would work better in a court of law than her mere account of it. She couldn't help gritting her teeth at this. Standard routine though it was, the thought of Kite and other people she worked with feasting their eyes on exposed and bruised pieces of her anatomy wasn't exactly thrilling. Just as doctors made the worst patients, she was beginning to realize cops definitely made the worst victims.

One thing she'd put her foot down about was the rape kit. She knew it was customary—she just didn't care. Luckily the doctor wasn't too implacable. "Why not?" was all he'd asked, mildly. "It's standard procedure."

"I don't need it," she'd replied flatly.

And that was that. Last thing she needed was everyone poring over a description of what was in her pants and wondering… _things. _Feeling sorry for her. The mere thought sent a discomfited tingling of shame down her arms and legs and she screwed her eyes shut against it.

_Fuck you, Feldman. My body is no one's damn crime scene._

They had wanted to keep her overnight because of the concussion. But the injuries were so slight and she made such a fuss about going home, they finally relented. She was glad. She didn't want to be surrounded by strangers at a time like this. She wanted to be alone—with her cats. As it should be.

It wasn't till Stillman dropped her off at home that she remembered Willie the Baby Bodyguard, and her heart instantly sank. To give even _more_ explanations, at a time like this…

"Don't worry about it," Stillman broke through her thoughts, his tone gruffly kind. "He'll stay out of your hair."

Looking properly appalled at the sight of her shiner and the hospital's oversized ice pack, Lilly could have sworn she'd never seen anyone jump off a couch so fast. Stillman's unspoken order to halt and back off wasn't lost on her either. The poor rookie seemed so genuinely remorseful and submissive she actually felt a little sorry for him. At least it was thanks to _his_ presence she'd be spending the night in her own bed instead of a hospital gurney.

Now over twelve hours had passed and she still lay in the same place, motionless, going over each crack on that ceiling as if her life depended on it. There were just so many things she didn't want to think about. Funny how last time she'd done this was when Christina was still with her—when she'd toyed with the illusion they'd make up, be real sisters for a change. When George, that creepy bastard, had managed to somehow throw things back into proportion in his own sick way, giving her a sudden chilling glimpse of what _real _evil was like.

Now George was gone, Christina wasn't gone _enough, _and a perfectly routine investigation had brought her to this unlikely scenario—the one in which _she _was the casualty, battered and bruised and ordered home in the daytime when she _should_ have been at work, fighting for the good guys.

A sudden spark of rebellious rage took possession of her. Damn Feldman for making her feel this way—vulnerable and disgraced. He had no right. He was nothing but a shadow lurking in the parking lot. Yeah, sure, he'd got away with some damage—and that much he was going to pay for. And if he'd harmed Erica Bailey, he'd pay for it too. But he wasn't going to make _her_ pay. Not now, not ever.

Steeling her mind against the pain, she rolled off the bed, grabbed her pants and determinedly headed for the shower.

He was _not _making a casualty out of her.

* * *

Stillman's foul mood was evident the moment he got back from his meeting with the DA's office. It was like there was black cloud standing over his head—standing over the whole Homicide department, actually. Apparently there was nothing they could do about Feldman and Erica Bailey without a confession. And now, since he'd lawyered up, they wouldn't be able to get one.

"Kite says we can refuse his right to a lawyer but then we can't use his confession to convict him," Stillman huffed. "And that was _after _I gave him Lilly's file with all its pictures. Different cases—different approaches. We're not allowed that risk."

Jeffries knew Stillman, with all his experience, had seen it coming. That didn't really make it any less frustrating though. This case had really gotten to him—it had gotten to them all. And if there had been any secret hopes of Kite chipping in, considering his past history with Lilly—they could put them to rest now.

"What if we found another way to convict him?" he asked. "If we found witnesses—or physical evidence—"

"There isn't any," Vera growled at his side. "We got no way to prove he ever had _anything _to do with Erica. He worked in the same place as Newton during the time she disappeared—that's it. Blood in that shed belongs to her, but we got no way to tie Feldman to it. We ain't even sure he was the one who dumped that purse, though he sure did get nervous at that little white lie. He just wasn't in the right place at the right time."

"Maybe he was," Scotty broke in excitedly, lugging a piece of fax paper into the room. "Owner of the trailer park just sent me a list of his old tenants. Real interesting name on there, staying just two lots of away from Newton in 1995. Kylie Murray Feldman."

* * *

Kylie Feldman appeared more insignificant than ever, trapped as she was behind the interrogation room table—a tiny little redheaded elf of a person, all pointy chin and freckles. Jeffries honestly could not see her killing anyone. But stranger things have happened.

"Can't believe what they say Robert did to that detective lady," was the first thing that came out of her mouth, no sooner had Jeffries sat in front of her. "She was… nice. I'm just really sorry." She stared at the floor.

Jeffries felt faintly sympathetic. "Had he ever been violent to you, Mrs. Feldman?"

"Not that way."

"In any way?"

"No." Kylie refused to face him, her gaze directed obstinately at the table and her own nervously tapping hands. "He was a good husband."

"How long have you two been married, Mrs. Feldman?" Vera probed from his corner.

"About twelve years."

"And during this time you lived in a trailer park owned by a man called Louis Biggs?"

Kylie sighed. "Not everyone can afford luxury, you know."

"And you had this trailer under your name?"

"Yes." She appraised Jeffries guardedly. "What's this all about? I thought you were going to question me about your detective."

"We have reason to believe a young woman was killed or attacked in a shed near your trailer lot around 1995. A woman by the name of Erica Bailey." Out came the polaroid. "Look familiar?"

The strangest expression came over Kylie's face—one that faded away before Jeffries could put his finger on it. "I… No. It was such a long time ago."

"She was in a relationship with a man living two trailers away from you. A man called Morgan Newton. She also lived near Kemp's garage, where your husband was working. Think you may have seen her in either of those places?"

Kylie shook her head. "Not at work. I never went to Kemp's garage."

Now for the moment of truth. "Mrs. Feldman, I need you to think real carefully about this. Do you think there's any chance your husband could have been having an affair back then?"

"An affair?" Her eyes widened and her pale features sharpened till they seemed almost transparent. Suspicion and disbelief chased each other across her face and finally stubborn disbelief won."No. Never. He was a good husband."

_Open your eyes, lady, _Jeffries thought impatiently. "Is there anything—anything at all, no matter small—that made you think he might have hurt someone at the time?"

"No."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure. He wasn't that type of man."

"Oh?" Vera interjected ungraciously. "And what type of man was he? Aside from the kind that preys on law enforcement officers, I mean?"

Kylie said nothing. But she knew something—and she was on the verge of breaking. Jeffries could tell by the way her mouth twitched, the way she fiddled with her wedding band. It was time for emergency tactics, and though he didn't feel good about what he was planning to do next, better him than Vera.

"Mrs. Feldman, are you completely sure he wasn't having an affair?" His tone, slow and deliberate, caused her to blanch even more. "I know you couldn't give him children. Maybe he went looking for someone who could? Can't really blame him for that, you know. A man is entitled to his offspring…"

Kylie persisted. "No—he wasn't like that. He would never—he couldn't—"

"Never underestimate the value of kids," Vera punctuated resentfully. "You have no idea what a man without kids will do."

Kylie's eyes were brimming with tears.

"I'm gonna ask you again, Mrs. Feldman," Jeffries pushed on. "Was there _anything_ that made you suspect he could have been having an affair—or hurt someone?"

At long last the stanch Mrs. Feldman broke. "Yes," she admitted haltingly. "It was… a long time ago. I walked in on him one night—washing off his sneakers. Red water trailed down the drain. I asked him if it was blood—but he just said he'd cut himself on the lawnmower."

"You didn't believe him?"

Kylie shook her head. "There was _too_ much blood. And his cut wasn't that big. And it was just a few days later that… that other man, a neighbor, came asking if we had seen his girlfriend. It was—that girl over there. The one in the picture."

"Why didn't you report this?" demanded Vera.

Tears streamed down Kylie's face, but she remained fairly articulate. "I loved my husband," she gulped. "I wanted to believe him. That he could do no wrong. That he was faithful."

The interrogation was over, but still she went on, sourly, compulsively, as if stopping herself were out of the question. "I'm pregnant, you know. All those years trying and I just found out yesterday. Waited up all night for him to come home so I could give him the big news. And now you tell me this. I don't even know who this man is anymore."


	23. Chapter 22

Ahem... I never meant to take this long. Life throttled my muse and stuck its head in the toilet. No--really. Anyway... final chapter up! Thanks for being so patient.

Disclaimer: obviously not mine. If they were, Joseph and Ray wouldn't exist.

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**Chapter 22**

"Kylie's story adds up," Vera was proclaiming excitedly, coffee mug forgotten in his hand. "Two lots away, proper time, proper place..."

"I dunno," Jeffries unsympathetically stopped him. "Frannie says the bloodspatter in that shed is compatible with gunshot. And Feldman's never had a registered weapon to his name. Newton does."

"Ever heard of the black market?" Vera jeered, and Scotty rolled his eyes. They were under too much strain—moods got ugly easily.

"Besides," Jeffries went on, ignoring him. "Why keep that purse around if he killed her in 95? Doesn't make sense. And Newton's the one who's got relics of her lying all over his trailer. Stalker behavior. Plus he had much easier access to that shed."

"Well—_he _didn't try to go for Lil," Vera snarled back.

"He did when they first brought him in," Jeffries coldly reminded him.

"Oh, come on." For a minute Scotty was almost afraid he'd have to jump between the two of them, there was so much tension in the room. But it faded away almost as quickly as it had come. "The guy _said_ he just wanted to talk to her. He has bad people skills. Medical records confirm he has a mild Asperger's."

"People are funny things sometimes," Scotty offered, more or less distractedly. His heart wasn't completely in the case right now, he was bound to admit. It should have been. After all, it was _his _partner's honor on the line. But he couldn't seem to focus. Lilly's ghost kept drifting in and out of his mind, not her healthy visage but the one he'd seen yesterday—that of a terrified, brutalized victim.

Christina had noticed something wrong that night before. She'd been after him for hours, pestering to know why he was so "moody". For a while he'd actually considered telling her. His chest was still too constricted and his mind too aghast at what had happened—he needed to share it with someone. And, judging by the tight-lipped inhospitable look about Stillman, it wasn't going to be him.

Christina was Lilly's next of kin, compassionate, and a female. Why _shouldn't _she know?

He´d been sitting on the edge of his bed, face turned toward her, longing for the adoring comfort only she could grant, the words just begging to be spilled out. And then Lilly's face flashed before him and he realized he _couldn't _tell her. Whatever misunderstandings they might have had, whatever family fights lay below the surface that neither would speak about, whatever favorable opinion he might have of her—Christina had caused his partner a lot of hurt and he was _not _going to betray her again by giving her yet another thing to hold over her head.

"Hearsay," Stillman grunted shortly at his side, interrupting his reminiscences. "Kylie's word against his. It's not like we actually have those sneakers she mentioned. CSU canvassed the Feldmans' house pretty thoroughly. They found nothing incriminating. And why should there be? It's been three years."

"But the _fors_—whatchamacallits were there." Vera still hadn't drunk his coffee and it swished alarmingly around his cup as he swaggered back and forth. Scotty had the sudden vision of a long, sticky streak of coffee seeping its syrupy way through the floorboards. "Maybe Feldman got careless someplace else?"

"We'd have to ransack all the places he's lived in over the years," Stillman morosely replied. "There's too many of them—no way we'd ever get so many warrants. Especially with Kite being as cooperative as he is. No, we have no choice but to take them on—them _and_ their lawyers. And hope one of them is stupid enough to crack."

"I can do it, Boss."

Startled at the unquestionably female voice that had just broken into their conversation, Scotty whipped his head around so fast he strained a neck muscle. Vera's mug shattered to the ground, turning Scotty's spilled coffee prophecy into hard fact.

"Lil."

She was barely recognizable, lip swollen, eye puffy, the whole left half of her face an impossible mass of black and blue markings. But she was there—standing in the doorway, hair up, pantsuit impeccable—as if it were any old day at work.

Scotty's eyes unintentionally lingered on her turtleneck, not wanting to think about what other bruises might be hiding there, under the spotless veneer of her everyday suit.

Stillman was the first to react, everyone scrambling to their feet at his cue. They all kept their distance, Scotty noticed. Slow, cautious, as if afraid of how she'd react—like she might break. _Lilly's gonna hate this, _his subconscious warned, _act normal_. "Good to have you."

This Lilly acknowledged with a perfunctory nod, becoming even edgier as she repeated, an odd sort of urgency in her voice, "Let me question Feldman, Boss. I can do it. I know I can."

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There was no way Lilly Rush was kidding herself. It wasn't slight anxiety she felt at the thought of coming within ten feet of Feldman. It was the heart-thumping, palm-sweating, suffocating kind that made her feel like she'd been flung off a ten-story building. The last thing she wanted was having to spend "quality time" with this prick, particularly behind closed doors. But there was no getting out of it. Something deep inside told her she'd never get past this unless she faced him. Not next week. Not tomorrow.

Now.

_Squash him like a bug, Rush. Show him what you're made of._

To say the guys had given her hell would be an understatement. Stillman's circumspect, "Lil, I don't think that's wise," had been merely the beginning. The ensuing discussion had got progressively fiercer, ending with Vera storming off in frustration and Stillman giving a reluctant authorization—but _only_ as long Feldman was restrained and one of them remained in the room with her at all times.

Lilly's hands were clammy as the others filled her in on their newest findings, crossing her arms to hide their trembling. Coming in that day had been anything but easy, having to face everyone's smoldering, ill-concealed curiosity—from the bald man at the front desk to the DA's very own Ivy League clerk. Her bruises branded her a victim, someone to gawk at, to pity. It had taken all her strength to ignore them and get this far. She sure as hell wasn't turning back now.

Feldman's leer as she entered the room made the alternative look real inviting though. "Well, well, well. If it isn't the feisty Detective Rush."

"Quiet," hissed the starched-up man next to him, the word _LAWYER_ written all over him. "You can't conduct your interrogation without me present, Detective."

"I know." It was harder than she had anticipated—keeping her voice cool and collected. Feldman's beady eyes sent irrepressible shivers down her spine, unnerving flashes of lying helpless in that rain-blasted parking lot assaulting her mind. _Breathe, Rush—you damn idiot. Quit the hyperventilating. You have some serious questioning to do here. Focus!_

Averting her gaze as she waited for the turmoil to subside, the words that finally burst out of her mouth weren't at all what she had planned. "Was it fun?"

Even Feldman seemed a little taken aback. "Was what fun?"

"Your little incursion in the parking lot. Did you enjoy it?" The harsh edge to her comment wasn't something she had planned either—it sent Stillman shifting uncomfortably against the wall. Lilly bristled slightly. _What? You think I'm gonna hit him or something?_

"You don't have to answer that," Feldman's lawyer readily reminded him.

"Doesn't really matter whether he answers or not," Lilly curtly pointed out. "He's still getting charged for it. There's plenty of evidence."

"You think you're so hot," Feldman finally sneered, as if unable to repress himself any longer. "I could do better than you any day of the week."

It was exactly what she wanted to happen—goad him to a point where he'd start talking and throw caution out the window—forget his lawyer's advice and just spill his guts. Lilly hadn't expected it to happen so soon, yet one more thing to take her by surprise. She had just managed to detach herself long enough to stop taking it personally. Because it _was _personal. Very personal. And she couldn't let it show.

"Nice job," she observed casually."You trying to get me to hit you again? So you can plead police brutality? Well—not gonna happen."

He simpered up at her callously.

"Why was it so important to shut me up, Robert?" she pushed on, leaning toward him across the table, pointedly ignoring the warning signals her mind was blaring out. "What did I find out that was so special? We already know you were lovers with Erica Bailey. While you were living just a few lots away from her in the same trailer park."

If this came as news to Feldman, he didn't disclose it. "You got no proof of that."

"Funny. Your wife seems to think we do."

This got a surprised reaction out of Feldman at last. "What's that?"

_Ha! Strike one, _Lilly gloated icily. _That oughta teach you to make smartass comments. _"Seems like your wife doesn't think you were all that upstanding back then. She was the one who gave us the trailer park tip. And some valuable information regarding a supposed lawnmower accident in '95…"

"You leave my wife out of this," spat Feldman angrily. "You got no business talking to her."

"So she was lying then? There was _no _lawnmower accident? Because she said—"

"My client doesn't have to answer that question," his lawyer cut in irritably. "You know that, Detective. Either ask something pertaining to the case, or leave him alone."

"He attacked her," Stillman broke in flatly. "I think she's entitled to _some_ courtesy from your client. Especially considering this is just a friendly conversation. It's not like we're charging him for Erica Bailey's disappearance or anything."

Both Feldman and the lawyer gave him dirty looks, but neither one objected.

_Strike two._

"So was there or wasn't there a lawnmower accident, Mr. Feldman?" Lilly sweetly insisted. "You do realize, of course, that if you answer this question there will be no need to ask your wife anything else? You might be able to talk to her—give her your side of the story."

"Fine," seethed Feldman petulantly. "I had an affair with Erica Bailey. So what? Lotsa people do. Doesn't mean anything."

"Maybe she resisted? After all, you're not exactly the kind of gentleman to take no for an answer." Lilly felt completely in her element now—almost like she'd floated out of herself and it were someone else doing the grilling, someone who didn't mind prodding and poking and taking jabs. Someone who hadn't been jumped by this same asshole.

"I didn't have to." He grinned up at her. "Like most women, she was up for grabs."

So much for control. Lilly felt rather than saw Stillman hurtling toward her, seizing her by the forearm to stop her leaping over the table and throttling the bastard.

_Get a hold of yourself, Rush! Don't let him think you can't handle this. Get professional—NOW._

"Your wife's gonna love this," she mused, struck by a sudden inspiration. "The way you talk about women—the way you treat women. Me, Erica Bailey—who knows how many more? Not exactly a good environment for a child to grow up in."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Feldman demanded angrily.

Lilly's heart soared at the vibrating anger in his voice. _Strike three, you prick. _"I dunno," she shrugged, pushing her chair away. "Since you don't wanna answer my questions, this conversation is over, I guess."

"Get back here, bitch. GET BACK HERE!"

The sudden surge in his voice made her jump, almost slamming into the door as she whirled back to look at him, half-afraid he'd be out of his cuffs and after her. But he was still sitting there, quiet as ever, his sinister black gaze glowing in rage… almost like that night…

"Tell me. Tell me where you put Erica Bailey," she ordered.

"No. _You_ tell me what the hell you meant by that comment. Is Kylie pregnant? That it?" His face, taut and expectant, relaxed when she didn't answer. "I knew it. You're just bluffing. Kylie's too old to have kids."

"Well, I guess now you'll never know, will you," said Lilly mercilessly. "She doesn't want anything to do with you." A glance told her he was close to losing it—it was now or never. "Erica just wasn't like your sweet little Kylie, was she? She had a mind of her own—wanted things—demanded things."

"So what if she did?" Feldman sputtered.

"Maybe she demanded things you couldn't give her. Like decent sex, for example? She didn't wanna be just any fling. And you, a man who can't even knock up his own wife—"

"Detective…" began the lawyer warningly.

"Probably can't even get it up right." Lilly should have been appalled at how much she was enjoying this. She should have, but she wasn't. There probably wasn't an ounce of truth in her story but she was savoring every word. "And Erica was gonna tell, wasn't she. Your reputation among the other mechanic studs would be ruined forever. You'd be the one who 'couldn't take on Blondie.'"

"Lil—"

"Or maybe there wasn't even that much of a reason. Maybe you just lured her out to the shed under the pretense of kinky sex and couldn't follow through. Poor you—killing off women to hide your own cracks. No wonder you didn't want Kylie anywhere near that garage. She might actually have met a _real _man—"

"SHUT UP!" he finally erupted, springing out of his chair and lunging toward her. _Where the hell are his cuffs? _Lilly idly wondered, his fists mere inches away from her face before she felt some unknown hands grabbing her and towing her back, past the door and out of harm's way. Last thing she saw before it closed behind her was Stillman slamming the culprit down on the table, and Feldman's voice bawling out, "I _did _knock her up, you stupid bitch. I _did!_"

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Not exactly a confession, but practically as good as. Jeffries had to hand it to her—the girl was good. Even against the man who had tried to rape her, even against everyone's better judgment, she'd managed to rock his world and get it tumbling down to the point he actually leaked something useful.

Lilly probably hadn't even noticed she'd done it. Or maybe she had? She seemed pretty out of it when Scotty finally hauled her out, just in time to avoid her getting pummeled again—since neither Stillman nor the lawyer managed to seize Feldman in time. Where were the cuffs they'd promised? Vera had actually been right in worrying, nothing was ever done the way it was supposed to around here.

It wasn't till Scotty had produced her a cup of coffee that she appeared to thaw out and show some emotion. Her face was paler than Jeffries had ever seen it, her fingers quavered and he could have sworn there were tears in her eyes. But Scotty was with her and by the looks of things, the bad blood between them was gone. Vera was probably as little inclined to leave as he was, but it was as much as this case was worth not to—there were things to be done, and they had to be done now.

It was the mention of the garage that first gave him the idea. Funny how none of them had ever thought of it before. Feldman was only a temp at the time, so his name wasn't registered anywhere and even if the body were found, probably no one would ever think of tracing it back to him. Plus it was a _garage_. Holes were dug and covered with concrete probably every day of their lives. Cars came and went, filled with junk. Best place in the world to get rid of a body.

Kemp wasn't happy at all when they showed up with a warrant to search the premises—especially when he asked if there had been any building or digging done in 1995. Turned out there was. And though it took CSU about 7 hours to break through the concrete and dig far enough, they were soon rewarded. About two feet to the left of pit number 3 lay the blanketed bones of what appeared to be a female, a few blonde strands still left on her skull… and a tiny fetus lodged in her pelvic cavity.

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**Only the epilogue left! Thanks for sticking with me, readers.**


	24. Epilogue

I know it's taken me forever to finish this fic. I'm really turned off by nowadays Lilly, she's nothing like she used to be, and keeping her in character (her season 2 character) was harder than I expected. Still, this fic has been the best fun I've had in a while and I don't regret one minute of it. A million thanks to all you kind, patient reviewers and non-reviewers who stuck by it the whole way, in spite of my long breaks and shameless deviation from the show's pattern. You made my day. I'll miss you like crazy!

* * *

**Epilogue **

_And the bitch has caught me, just like I knew she would. From the minute I laid eyes on her, I knew she'd find me out. And she did. I was doomed before I began._

_They say I gave myself up and I guess they're right. The blonde bitch did something to my head—made me crazy. Blonde bitches do that. Erica Bailey did. And she did it on purpose, too._

_I should have known she was trouble the minute I saw her come bouncing into Kemp's. But I never did. Boys said she was Newton's chick but that kid she always had with her was definitely not Newton's. Once Newton saw me staring, but he was so slow, he just never caught on. Poor bastard never realized I wanted her._

_She was hot, that little slut. Pale and perfect and nimble. I barely knew how I found myself tangled in the sheets with her. We were like animals—doing it wherever we could, however we could, whenever we could. Forgetting everything and everyone while we were at it. Can't deny I enjoyed fucking her and she was insatiable._

_But that's all she was. Just a damn fling. Why couldn't she just accept that?_

_I never got why she refused to go with Newton. Their plans to run off together had been laid down for ages. She was just itching to leave her husband and that boring old life of hers, sick of being the perfect little wife—the soccer mom. But then she dumped him. And decided she wanted me instead._

_First few times I was nice. Told her I wasn't leaving my wife for her. Told her **clearly**. I loved Kylie—still love her—and we were gonna make a baby together._

_And then she dropped her bomb. She was pregnant—and swore the kid was mine. That made me crazy. I didn't want a kid from her. I wanted a kid from my Kylie! Besides, fat chance I was really the father, what with all the other farts she probably had lying around her bedroom. Whore who screws over one guy will screw over others. _

_And then she said unless I left with her, she was gonna tell my Kylie. Everything._

_I was scared of what Kylie might do. She's sweet and fragile, she didn't deserve this. It was my fault—but it was the blonde bitch's fault too. She got me caught up in her sick, sneaky little spider web. It was impossible to get out._

_I never meant to kill her. Honest I didn't. I was just gonna scare her—maybe hurt her a little. Make her go away. But she got unreasonable, the uppity bitch—mocking me, like she was better than me or something. It set me off like nothing else ever had. We were in that shed and I didn't even feel like sex but suddenly there we were—and she was taunting me—who the fuck gave her the right?—and I saw red—and then there she was, sprawled on the ground with the wall covered in blood, and to this day I don't really know what happened, there's a huge void in my mind where that memory should be._

_She had it coming, though. She really did._

_What I don't get is **why** they keep raving about gunshot. I never had a gun in my life—wouldn't know how to shoot one if I did. They're fucking lunatics, these cops. They'll do anything for a conviction. Well—if they're hoping for a confession, they sure as hell ain't getting one from me._

_And now my Kylie's finally pregnant, like we always wanted—and she hates my guts, so I don't get to see my baby grow up. Guess she'll never understand that everything I did, I did it for her, to protect her and this kid, to keep them together, to make them real—a family._

_Self defense. That's all it was. A man's got a right to protect his family._

* * *

Maybe it was wrong for Stillman to feel gratification as he ground Feldman's face into the table. Maybe it was wrong, but—the hell with it. Bastard had it coming, even more than suspects usually did—that low down, cheating, murdering, stalking, raping bastard. Someone had to rid the world of this kind of scum. Sure he couldn't be taking justice into his own hands all the time, he _was _a law-enforcement officer after all. But for once in his life he decided rules could just fly out the window. Backing off that time, at his own daughter's request, was the hardest thing he'd ever done, and damned if he was doing it again now that one of his own had been similarly affected. The wellbeing of his detectives was _his_ responsibility—what the hell made this punk dream he could just waltz into their world and threaten them? Physically harm them even?

In the land of limited options, he was definitely king. He couldn't very well beat the perp's face to a pulp as would have been desired—and deserved. But no one would deny him the pleasure of intercepting his onslaught on Lilly with just a _little_ more vigor than necessary.

_That should teach you to pick on the good guys_, he glowered, unabashedly crushing him against the wood as he clicked his cuffs into place.

Funny how Janie's face seemed to smile back out at him, mirrored in the glistening steel rings.

* * *

Scotty couldn't help himself. He had to do it. He knew it was wrong—nosy as hell—and would probably earn him not only the Wrath of Lilly but the fierce disapproval of everyone else. Even so, it had to be done. His mind had been turning it over for so long—since George mentioned it, to be exact—he knew he'd never rest easy till he got to the bottom of the mystery.

Lilly's forbidden 49.

Her fragmented state following the Feldman interrogation was what settled it. It was too much—_too _much, even for someone jumped by the same thug the night before. Something else was up, something no one knew—something dark and sinister and terrible, a secret buried deep in her past. One stirred awake by recent happenings, rearing its ugly head in unsettling ways. Something Scotty felt he had to know. Not out of curiosity, but to _understand_.

The cool dusky archive room where the 49s were stored had a lingering ominous air to it—grim reminder that George was still at large. Lilly's file, wedged in a dank, dusty corner, had all of two mistyped pages in it—flimsy and insignificant, old, yellowed, brittle and forgotten. Had it been any other casefile, Scotty wouldn't have graced it with a second glance.

The bruised, mangled little face that leapt out at him as soon as he flipped the cover open was so painfully recognizable he nearly dropped it.

_Crap. Oh, crap—I shouldn't have done this. Leave well enough alone, Valens. Leave it alone. Now!_

But he couldn't. To his shame, curiosity was greater. He just _had _to know.

His mouth was dry as sawdust by the time he'd finished, his movements sluggish as he half-heartedly jammed the file back where he'd found it, lost among all others.

He understood now why Lilly was so eager to leave her past in the past—why she defended her territory so jealously, fending off anyone who didn't belong—Christina included. He had no business dragging everything back after she'd spent so many years burying it. All he could do with this information now was… keep it to himself.

_Dammit, you really are a prick, Valens._

* * *

Not quite the fairytale ending Lilly had in mind, turning his wife's body over to an averse Aaron Bailey. Aaron's eyes were obscured, indecipherable. Try as she might, she hadn't been able to keep the gory details from him. In a way, she guessed he deserved to know. His wife was no saint—far from it—and she _had _meant to leave him and the kids, but that wasn't the reason she'd disappeared. Who knew what would have happened if she'd stayed alive? Maybe she would've changed her mind and not left after all, or she would have realized what she was missing and returned.

At least he and his children had some answers now. They could put her memory to rest, leave the past behind, pick up the pieces and move on. Lilly only hoped Aaron Bailey would be equal to the task—because resolution was all she could offer them. Maybe some family counseling and rehab for the boy, if he wanted it. A little bird had told her he'd gone home to visit his father and sister. Who knew? Maybe he had a chance after all. But there would be no miraculous family reunion, no benevolent Erica Bailey ghost watching over them. Not this time.

As for herself, she felt oddly at ease. Comfortable, even. Her injuries still throbbed as much as ever, but pride and honor had been restored. It hadn't been a piece of cake, but it was worth it—knowing she'd been able to come back and face the bastard. Let the others know she wouldn't be crushed—that she could still do her job. She wasn't some frail piece of glass that shattered if you looked at it funny. She faced adversity, as everyone else did—cried a little, moped a little, then sucked it up and got on with her life. As people did.

Would the frightened little ten-year-old waif come back to haunt her tonight? Probably. She'd been hanging around for so long it would take more than mere closure to chase her away. But she had the hunch even those dreams would be less terrifying now.

"Uh… Rush?"

She glanced up, hardly believing her ears. "Kite." Not precisely her favorite person at this moment. "What do _you_ want?"

"Just to see how you were doing." He was giving her _that_ smile—the charming, apologetic one. Well… it wasn't gonna work this time.

"Just fine and dandy, thanks."

She had to hand it to him, his concern seemed genuine. Too bad it hadn't been around when they needed it. He'd managed to make himself plenty scarce then.

"Listen," he began awkwardly. "It's not that I didn't _want _to help. It's just that, if you wanna get a conviction, you have to follow the rules. That's just the way it works."

"Uh-huh." _Well, you've got your conviction now, Kite. So congratulations._

"I promise we'll condemn him to the fullest extent of the law," he added pertly, trailing after her like some pesky sort of puppy as she gathered her belongings to put them away.

"You do that, Kite. Now, if you'll excuse me, I really have to go."

* * *

_As I turn my back on the police with a baby in my womb and free of the tiresome burden of years in an unhappy marriage, I can't help thinking about how perfect it all turned out. Perfect to the last detail. And I didn't even have to spend that much time planning it—things just sort of fell into place._

_I always knew Robert had it in him to kill someone. You don't wake up with a person every morning for twelve years and not notice. His raptures were always so violent—greedy, almost. With me he was always gentle, but I knew there were others. Erica Bailey wasn't the first, but she was the most dangerous—the only one who managed to put a kink in my plans._

_She deserved to die. If I didn't think so when I first found out about their affair, I knew it for sure when I heard them arguing in that shed. About her pregnancy. That kid _she _was expecting but that _I _was supposed to have. The nerve of that ho. _

_And then Robert lost it and flew back to the trailer in a panic—such a sissy. But I stayed. Someone had to. You didn't have to be a genius to realize those injuries wouldn't kill her—just a measly cut on her scalp. _

_Pulling the trigger was easy as pie. She was already unconscious so she didn't feel a thing. And I had a good silencer. I'd never fired a gun before but it's amazing what you can do when your instincts tell you to. Gotta thank my Pa for keeping so many of those around._

_Robert never found out about the gun. I don't think he even noticed I'd been prowling around that shed, watching him, before running into him washing up that blood. It was just one of the many things we never talked about again._

_I don't know what made me put up with him for so long afterwards. We were never really happy, except maybe at the very beginning. But I needed this baby, needed it to feel alive—and he was the only one who could give it to me. No matter how long it took._

_Soon as the test came back positive, though—I knew it was time. And then fate lent me a helping hand. Who knows? Maybe there _is_ a higher power after all. Because I sure never expected to come across those babies buried in my backyard—and I never dreamed they'd eventually be connected to Erica Bailey. That was just plain luck._

_When Erica Bailey's name came up, I knew the die was cast. And I did everything in my power to help it along. Increasing Robert's paranoia, asking questions that couldn't be answered without resorting to lies, egging him on. Seeing him so nervous was hilarious—I knew it would only be a matter of time before he incriminated himself. And then I'd be free._

_I'm sorry that detective lady had to take the brunt of Robert's rage. But in, every war there will be casualties, and she was one of mine. At least this is a war I've won—with Robert out of my life and Erica Bailey dead, no one will ever suspect me. My baby and I will make a life for ourselves far, far away from here._

_Good-bye, Robert. Good bye and good riddance._


End file.
